


Written in stone.

by Yokelish



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Casualties, Desperation, Gen, Mentions of Suicide, Original Character(s), War, a little more violence than in the game, inspired by Comrades expansion, it's final fantasy xv, nothing too graphic, we know what's going to happen, we know who dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21719104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yokelish/pseuds/Yokelish
Summary: Lady Lunafreya escaped Insomnia. And soon gained a female companion. Together, they pursued Oracle's deeds. Together, they became dependent on each other. But the fate of Eos is cruel and twisting. One Glaive cannot fight it. The fate of Eos is written in stone.
Kudos: 5





	1. Smoke and salt.

She ran. Frantically escaping the obstacles on her way. Cutting the countless corners of Altissian streets. Jumping over rubble, stones, restaurant chairs and benches. Her shoulder would briefly rub against the stone wall as she cut the corner in order to save every second. She ran because she had to. She ran not to escape the Imperial assault, the destruction, Leviathan’s wrath, but to save someone who has become her friend. Someone who was in danger. Someone who could be dead by the time she arrived if she let herself stop. She ran, focusing on her breathing rate and rhythm to preserve her stamina. She needs to cover as much distance as she possibly could. Fortunately, the streets were empty, and she didn’t have to run against the swarm of panicking citizens. The nauseating smell of war. Smoke mixed with sea salt. It’s intoxicating, weakening. It reminded her of Insomnia. There, in Crown City, during its fall, the air was all but smoke and something else… something static, electric. Perhaps it was all the power towers and lines that were destroyed during the assault leaving that faint scent. But deep down she knew that that was a faint smell of old magic. In the end, amidst the ruins of Crown City, the smell of smoke was ever-present. The static was gone at dawn.

Misstep. The fall on the ground. She collected herself immediately and got up. The pain doesn’t matter. It’s nothing anyway. The ground shook the moment she stood up. It’s a violent shake of terrifying magnitude. Leviathan’s wrath or Empire’s weaponry. And then, there’s that feeling that she missed. That she hadn’t felt since the fall of Crown City. Since the death of King Regis Lucis Caelum. An unmistakable feeling of power. _King’s magic._

“How…?” she quietly asks with no one around to answer her. She lifts her head to the grey sky. Smoke, Imperial airships, and golden rays of light. The Oracle. “But that means…” she takes out her kukri and throws it, aiming further to cut the distance. It works. In an instant, she warps to her kukri, blue and yellow sparks left in her stead. And in the same blue and yellow sparks she appears. The feeling of magic was intoxicating. Not the nauseating feeling that the smoke and sea salt gave her. Magic tips the scales in her favour.

Rooftops. It’s the fastest way to get to the Altar of the Tidemother. But from the top, the view is more horrifying. All the destruction, the damage the city sustained is open on the palm of your hand. What is more terrifying is Leviathan and Titan in the sea surrounded by Imperial airships. It would be a lie to say she didn’t miss the feeling of warping through the battlefield. King’s magic running through the body like an enhancing potion but much, much stronger. The feeling of weightlessness as she warps to another rooftop only to be hit by the weight of her own body and gravity the moment she lands. It’s invigorating. It keeps the steady flow of adrenaline.

Altissia…. This is the end of Altissia as it was known. Another city falls under Imperial assault. And a god’s wrath. If she had time to mourn, she would. She would mourn _his_ death. That’s the future he gave his life for. The King of Kings… Do the gods really expect the King of King to fight the darkness of this world? Leviathan in the distance is an enormous monstrosity. How can a human expect to fight off an Astral being? And what is he now? Twenty years old? Even she is older than that. She’s a trained soldier. An elite soldier. A member of Kingsglaive. She has seen daemons that were enormous. Daemons, whose shadow would cover the battlefield, leave half of Altissia in permanent shadow. But Leviathan? Terrifying. Vicious. Merciless. Conscious. _Those are the gods who guard our star._ Another rooftop. The sounds of battle grow closer and closer. Too close. The Altar is still far away. _Where’s the fighting?_ She looks around, desperate to find the battleground, and whoever was putting up a fight.

“No way…” The white coat and the saber were unmistakably High Commander’s. He never expressed anything but mere tolerance of her presence and suppressed disgust in the past, but their goals have always aligned. This time is not an exception, it’s more urgent than it could ever be. And it seemed like High Commander has an ally, which means he’s being more cooperative than usual.

The kukri landed right beside the last of the MT soldiers. The infantry soldier was a second to slow to turn around and stop its destruction. One kukri went in its metal back, the other where a heart – if it could have one – would be.

“You?!” High Commander asked, spitefully, accusingly. He quickly made his way to her, radiating hostility. “What are you doing here?” he asked through his teeth. Gods only know what words he wasn’t saying. She couldn’t be there even if she wanted to. She couldn’t be with Lunafreya at the Altar. Wakening an Astral from its slumber is Oracle’s doing and most of them are far from looking kindly upon mere mortals. Her presence before Leviathan would only anger the goddess further. And only the goddess would know how bad it would be for Lunafreya.

“I was doing what I was asked,” the woman replied stoically. Her eyes met Ravus’s without shame or fear. She did what she was asked to do by none other than his sister.

“You swore that you would remain at her side and protect her!” Ravus shouted at her. His prosthetic arm stopped mere inches from the woman’s neck.

“Pardon the intrusion, but I fear we do not have time to quarrel,” another man spoke. The Glaive woman looked at him curiously. He was tall, lean, and wore glasses. His spiky hairstyle was coming down. His attire was more of what people were wearing in Insomnia and not in Altissia or Tenebrae. The Prince is here, so, perhaps, this is one of the Crownsguard? _Something about him seems familiar, though, his way of speaking was similar to Ravus’s._ His weapons, though, she swore he was armed. But there was nothing in his hands now.

“He’s right,” the woman pushed High Commander and walked past him. “We have to get to the Altar.”

“You will answer for this,” Ravus Nox Fleuret was relentless. “I will personally see to it.”

“Fair enough. Now let us make haste.”

The three of them now moved together united by a common goal. It wasn’t an alliance of trust but an alliance of necessity. Ravus was borderline restraining himself from strangling her and tolerating it. While she knew that alone she would get to the Altar faster, she couldn’t know what would await her there. Having allies was beneficial in the long run. They moved through the ruins of Altissia. Who could tell now? A beautiful city, a pearl in the sea, just yesterday was a treasure of architecture and culture has now turned into a wasteland, a stone grave in the sea. Smoke and salt.

“You are of Kingsglaive,” the tall and lean man said, unasked, as they moved forward. He knew the answer very well. He most likely saw her using King’s magic. Not to mention every other detail that was a dead give away. Her kukri, her uniform – altered and customized – but recognizable nonetheless. She missed wearing her uniform. Being around Lunafreya made her conceal her origins. Until today, she would always wear something unrecognizable. She introduced herself. And so did he. His last name lingered on her mind for a while, she had heard it before.

“Magitek Armor,” Ignis said, surprised or worried. The woman couldn’t decipher his tone. Yet he was right. Magitek was right ahead of them, in fact, magitek was most likely everywhere by now. The Empire seemed to have an infinite supply of soldiers and was always generous with numbers.

“Indeed,” Ravus confirmed. His tone, however, she could decipher. The Glaive set beside him on the stairs. Ignis did not. He moved forward, only to be stopped by Tenebraen prince. “You needn’t waste your time. I’ve ordered a full retreat. They’ll be gone soon enough.”

“Very well,” Ignis complied. “Why turn against the empire. Why now?” She didn’t know Ignis Scientia. She had just met him just a few moments ago, only suspecting what his origin was and the purpose of being in Altissia in the first place. But what she could tell right away is that man was scared of no one. Ravus Nox Fleuret wasn’t a pacifying man.

“My sister’s life is at stake. Is that not reason enough?” Ravus answered, angered. “The paths we tread may differ, but the blood coursing through our veins is one. So, too, is our calling. I must protect her.”

Something deep inside her ached at these words. Something deep inside her told her, though, want he may, it’s is not to be. Lunafreya cannot be protected. Not fully, not ever. Ravus can protect her from the empire’s claws, but he cannot protect her from the price she is paying to fulfill her calling. One day they both would have to see Luna’s passing. All they could do it to prolong the inevitable.

“May I ask what a Glaive is doing in Altissia in such hour?” Scientia asked her.

“Having a vacation.” Sarcasm found its way, despite inappropriate timing. “I am to protect Lady Lunafreya on King Regis’s orders,” the woman answered. It wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t King Regis who ordered her to protect the Oracle. Neither was it the Prince of Tenebrae. It was someone else. Scientia seemed to be impressed by the answer, or at least that what his expression looked like. He only nodded as a sign of understanding.

“Is it safe to assume this means you’ll lend Noct a hand?” Ignis addressed High Commander again.

_Noct? Noctis? Noctis Lucis Caelum, Crowned Prince, the Chosen King?_

“Don’t be asinine,” Ravus said calmly. “Our interests may have aligned in this moment, but I have not allied myself with _him._ ” The conversation was definitely about the Lucian prince. High Commander had a painful reaction to the name of Lucian royalty. She was right to assume that Ignis Scientia was a Crownsguard. The way he addressed his liege seemed more personal than was appropriate for a Cronwsguard member. Prince Noctis did have personal retainers. One of them was his Shield, son of Clarus Amicitia. Another one was said to be the adviser for the future king. That must be him. Then it hit her like a splash of cold seawater in the face. _Scientia!_ She had definitely heard the name before at court. He must be it, a royal retainer, chosen to advise the future king of Lucis. Her expression must have been very obvious as Ignis looked at her expectantly.

“Without a doubt,” she answered. Of course, she would land Noctis a hand. If need be, she’d die protecting him. That’s what a Glaive is sworn to do. That’s what would Luna… No, she’d never ask of this. Neither she ever wanted anyone to die for the sake of the future. “It is my duty as a Glaive,” she added. The bespectacled man nodded lowly. Their mutual and mute agreement. And then Scientia’s eyes, hidden behind glasses, looked at the magitek prosthetic arm.

“What of it?” Ravus asked.

“I have doubts that you were born with a prosthetic,” Scientia explained. _He is a very daring man._

“Your doubts are correct,” High Commander answered. “I once believed it was I who was destined to dispel the darkness. This is proof I was wrong.”

The Glaive remembered that day. Glauca, no, Drautos and King Regis. And Ravus Nox Fleuret wore the Ring of the Lucii. The Ring contained power not meant for him to wield. She remembered the violent screams escaping his mouth as his hand was burning. She wondered if he knew that she knew. In any case, she was not going to mention it. That ring… it burned Ravus’s hand but took _his_ life. Isn’t too high a price to pay for using whatever power it contained?

True to his word, magitek army was retreating. High Commander still held power among the ranks despite his questionable judgment as per Imperial ambitions. "The empire is after the Ring of the Lucii,” he said. “If the ring falls into the wrong hands, I fear there’s little hope for either of them.”

“Then we must hurry,” Ignis said, getting up. She followed them. So, it begins. They will pave their path to the Altar whatever means necessary. Hoping that the Chosen King and the Oracle are safe. Somewhat. At least, alive. Otherwise, they may as well give up hope for the future.

“We haven’t much time,” Nox Fleuret noted as he referred to the MT machinery. Despite its design, it never failed to amaze her how Niflheim constructed those murdering machines. Sometimes they seemed way to conscious and too hungry for blood. But that’s probably was her imagination.

“I’m aware,” answered Scientia.

“Tread quietly.”

“I know,” Ignis and the woman said in unison. Their tones matched as if they were getting a bit tired of being told the obvious thing. Blue and purple eyes shoot daggers at them for a moment or two. _Lucians,_ they spoke with spite. Without many words, they decided to take on the Magitek armor in stealth. Ignis rushed forwards, hitting one of the metal legs of the machinery, putting it off-balance. Ravus and Glaive attacked next. One at each side of the machine, using their weapons to put the machine down. The joints were their weakest part, allowing to put them down quick and silent.

“Good thing they don’t scream,” the woman mumbled under her breath as she looked at the destroyed machinery. Or maybe they did, silently as they broke down, unknown to life or death. Treading among the ruins of Altissia seemed… unreal. Yesterday, just yesterday it was a bright city. A jewel in the sea. With its grand and fascinating architecture. Streets both wide for a small market and narrow to let only two people walk side by side. The complicated outline of the city that irritated her for the first couple of days. It was confusing, with bridges crossing to the other side, and the need for gondola rides. The smell of the sea so overwhelming at first, she thought she could never smell anything else but salt in the air. Now there’s little left of the peculiar small buildings. There were only shambles. There are no more streets. Just a plateau, a battleground, a ruin. And it seemed that glorious Altissia wasn’t there yesterday. It seemed that Altissia was gone and desolated for years. And it hurt all the more to know that it didn’t. That something could be destroyed so easily and so fast. That it won’t come back tomorrow, the day after or in a month. Altissia is but smoke, ash, dust, and salt.

“Ready?” she heard the Crownsguard voice. She looked up to see two Magitek machines.

“You have to ask?” Ravus parried with great confidence. For a second, the Glaive remembered what it was like in a military with dominating presence of men. Where one would try to prove the other wrong. Prove the other worse. 

“Let’s make this quick,” Nox Fleuret said, measuring the man and the woman with his eyes.

“Gladly,” Ignis replied. She rolled her eyes. “I’d be glad if you’d both quit it,” she said dismissively.

The men launched at the machine on land, ignoring the one on the roof. Ignis attacked. Then Ravus. Tenebrean Prince landed the lethal blow with his sword right in the joint of the machine. Glaive warped to the machine on the roof, distracting it from the two men. But apparently, alone she was not enough. The Magitek still averted its attention to Ravus Nox Fleuret and his temporary ally. Fortunately, Ignis was fast to react as he launched his lance at the Magitek Armor. Despite the hustle movements, he hit the target. Whether the aim was good or the impact, but the Magitek seemed disoriented. That put her in a treacherous position. The machine won’t go down so easy, and she is still on top of it. Using the perfect moment, she took out her weapon, warped and landed it right in the machine’s weakest spot. With the sparks of blue and gold, she landed right between the two men.

“Don’t get in my way!” Nox Fleuret said with nothing but fury in his voice. His cockiness was gone now, he was back to hostile, ready-for-a-knife-in-the-back attitude.

“So as long as you stay out of mine,” Ignis answered calmly. She got what she wanted: they were over their immature behaviour. They were back to their hostile. She’d say something but decided against it as High Commander may not appreciate her opinion. She is already on thin ice, no need to stump a foot and break it. She followed Ignis without uttering a word.

“Tell me: do you truly believe Noctis is one True King?” the man of Tenebrae asked. While not addressing anyone, Glaive knew that the question was not for her to answer.

“I believe it goes without saying,” Scientia answered simply.

“Yet when the flames of the war enshrouded Tenebrae, his father spared us nary a second thought. No “saviour king” could be born of such cowardice.” The Glaive started to burn from the inside. _How ware you accuse King Regis of cowardice!_ The thoughts spoke to the Prince of Tenebrae but he could never hear them. Perhaps when they get to the Altar and rescue Noctis and Lunafreya, she will tell him about what happened in the Citadel. What happened there on the day of the treaty signing according to her. Tell him how she was laying on the floor bleeding, how Glauca nailed Clarus Amicitia to the wall. How desperate she was to heal herself as fast as she could. Healing magic was her weakest point. It never made sense to her why would it require so much concertation in a state of serious injury. She followed Glauca soon after she managed to heal herself enough to move. Swift and quiet were her steps and her magic. She saw the King die, from behind the corner, watching as Drautos pushed his sword through King Regis’s body once. Twice. Kingslayer soon broke through the protective barrier, as she suspected left there by the King himself, separating himself from the fleeing Lady Lunfreya and another Glaive. All she wanted was to win time for them to flee. She couldn’t. She knew she could not take on Glauca, but she hoped she could die trying. She was too late to save the King who didn’t want to be saved. Dying was not an option after that. She needed to find Nyx sooner than anyone else did. Well, she failed at that too.

“Or you simply forgotten the pledge sworn by your forbears?” Ignis’s voice pulled her out of her void of memories.

“I have not forgotten – nor have I forgiven,” well-know wrath of High Commander filled his voice. In a million years she wouldn’t be able to predict where this conversation would end and how. Despite how twisted it sounded, she was glad to see a swarm of Magitek soldiers coming their way. They cannot bicker and fight at the same time, can they? They cannot possibly oppose each other more than they cared for the two people at the Altar. _This_ wasn’t about them or their differences.

“I am getting tired of this,” she said before warping. The Glaive didn’t mind the waves of emeries constantly crushing at them, she was getting tired of her allegiance. She didn’t know that the other two were doing but she knew full well what she was doing. Slashing, cutting, killing. Mercilessly. That the only way a soldier knows how to protect. That’s the only way she knew how to protect. What elevated her consciousness is that Magitek didn’t die the way people did. Their eyes didn’t open wide when her kukri went through them, there were no ragged breaths as she took out her weapon. They just fell to the ground with a loud sound of crushing metal. It was over way too soon. The anger and despair she felt were not vented out.

“You alright?” Ravus asked. This question coming from him surprised her, the woman turned around to see and to believe.

“Well enough,” Scientia replied.

“You are resilient – I’ll give you that.” She tilted her head in surprise. There was something in the voice of the Tenebrean Prince, something that almost sounded like respect. Perhaps she was misunderstanding Ravus. Or maybe he wanted to be misunderstood. There were many things that High Commander couldn’t allow himself to say, to do, to be. Perhaps she would never understand him well enough. He may never want someone like her to understand him. It’s not his goal, it’s not what matters to him. And he ignored her on purpose.

“If Noctis _is_ the True King, he has much to prove,” he said, looking into the distance, where the Altar of the Tidemother stood. “The darkness will not wait for his ascend. It will consume our star and all upon it.”

There he was, for a second, a man who cared too much. A man who cared more than he could ever allow himself to show.

“I know,” Ignis spoke. “He may not yet grasp the gravity of his calling, but once he does, he will rise to the occasion and fulfill his destiny!”

A believer. He spoke to sincerely and too hopeful and even too affectionate. He believed genuinely, full-heartedly. She once believed in things and in people too. Believed Glaives would keep Insomnia safe, that Nyx Ulric would be the one to see the end of the war with Nifelheim. Well, not everything you believed in – no matter how genuinely and full-heartedly – was going to be your reality.

“One can only hope you are right,” Ravus’s tone was going back to what it used to be: bitter.

“Let’s hurry, or hope would be the only thing left,” she said. Both men nodded in silent agreement. The party of three ran towards the Altar. It was so close, so very close. What should she tell once she’s in front of the Oracle and the Chosen King? What can she tell the Prince of Lucis? That she is a Glaive and Glaives betrayed his father. Should she mention that the captain of the Kingsglaive killed King Regis? And that people she held dear are dead. Should she tell Prince Noctis that Nyx Ulric sacrificed his life for Lunafreya and the future of the world? _Luna. Luna would know what to say and how to say it._

They soon will be reunited with the people they had to be with. People they wanted to be with. Ravus would reunite with his sister, Ignis – with his liege and, most likely, friend. She with her friend, her liege and _his_ sacrifice. Nyx Ulric died for Lunafreya to be saved and deliver the ring to Noctis. That selfless idiot died and said that his life was nothing. Giving the future for those who wanted to see it was everything. She hated him for dying yet she loved him much more for everything that he was.

“Noct!”

“Lunafreya!”

That immediate terror you feel when you don’t hear the response from the person so dear and who could be in danger. What if it’s too late? What if they cannot be helped? What if the moment you saw them before this was the last one you saw them alive?

The footsteps. Their party missed another set of footsteps. She turned around to see Scientia and a white dog. Pryna, Lunfreya’s dog and messenger, laying on the ground. Pryna was dying. Oracle’s dog was dying. That’s not a good sign.

“Are you her dog?” the man asked. But she didn’t see him already, she ran towards the altar. _No. It cannot be._

It should have just a moment of fear when no answer followed, when no one said they were okay. It cannot be. A pillar of golden light. Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya laying on the ground. He was unconscious, breathing shallow but steady. She — at the death’s door. The Glaive looked down at them, at her friend on the ground, with an empty stare. Another friend that she has to lose and watch them die. Gone, slipped through her fingers like that golden light of hers.

“Noooct!” a scream from behind, Ignis’s. He was panting, she heard but didn’t turn around. Then... then came worst. For a moment, it was absolutely silent. And it horrified her, sent chills through her body and the cold went to the core of her being. Death. The golden light was flickering and waning. Too late. As always, she was too late to arrive. Too late to save anyone. There’s no magic in possession of mortals to stop life from leaving the body.

“No…” a desperate sound from a man who was about to lose his only family. How selfish it was for her to be absorbed in her own loss. She turned to look at Ravus but couldn’t see his face. He was standing further, never turning to face them. For some reason, she wanted him to turn around and scream at her, insult her, threaten her, whatever, even try violence against her. But he did none of that. Defeat. Despair. Loss. She knew all of it yet couldn’t offer any comfort. She knew full well there was none.

A gasp. The woman could tell where it came from. Ravus moved forward. One step, another one. He moved as if he was broken. Her eyes again fell on the scene in front of her. The golden light was gone. And _she_ was gone too. _Wait, what’s that on her dress?_

“First, the Lucians stole from me my mother…” Ravus said. The way it was spoken, it broke her a little more. She reached out to him, Ravus Nox Fleuret, the last in the line of the Oracle. Fortunately, he was out of her reach. Otherwise, what should be the next thing? Yet the next moment, his hand went to the hilt of his sword. Taking out her kukri was an instinct.

“And now they make sacrifice of my sister!” Ravus spat, enraged. She launched forward intending to stop the mortal blow to the Lucian prin— king. She grabbed onto the hand about to end a life, stopping mid-attack, but the sword-wielding hand pushed again. A dagger blocked the sword. The strength High Commander wielded was too much for Ignis to keep struggling against.

“Get out of my way!” the last Nox Fleuret shouted.

“What are you doing?” the royal retainer asked, struggle evident in his voice.

“What I should have done long ago: ridding us of this menace!”

“Ravus, think for a second!” the woman begged. It was enough distraction to give the Crownsguard a moment to take advantage of: he rammed his opponent away from Noctis. She saw Ignis fall on his back as he tried to push too hard and too much when Ravus had come back to his senses and resisted. But he stood back up and continued to do what he was doing until both of them fell and rolled.

“Stop!” the woman shouted as loud as her state allowed her. Something inside her was broken, for a while now, but today the crack went deeper and further. Her body was shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks. Not from grief, no, not from loss or despair or defeat. From anger, pure white-hot rage from being powerless to stop anything tragic, to save people that she wanted to save. Powerless to prevent the death of Crowe, Pelna, King Regis, Nyx, Lunafreya. She was there, wielding King’s magic when the King died, having no real power to stop that. She was watching as Nyx was burning from the inside, smiling into the sunrise, helpless to save him. Now she’s here at the Altar of the Tidemother with King’s magic restored and incapable of saving Luna. So weak and broken that she can’t even stop the fight between two men. They were fighting, she could make up the blurry silhouettes in the distance, hear steel clashing against steel. And they were speaking too, but she couldn’t decipher it amidst the many noises. The hushing of the rain... She looked up to the heavens above.

“Why?!” a cry escaped her trembling lips. Why was she forced to watch others die? Why was she forced to carry on with this pain? Why was she spared? It’s cruel, twisted and sick to be handed such a destiny. And then she looked at the two people laying on the ground and wiped her tears. She saw the same dark stain on the white dress. Blood, no doubts. Niflheim, it had to be. It seemed less probable that Leviathan would mortally wound the Oracle with something that looked a lot like a dagger. Something happened. Something outside of Leviathan’s wickedness and cruelty. Someone was here before them. Someone made it to the Altar and…

“Gods be damned!” she screamed, kicking the ground under her boot. It made a splashing sound. When did it start to rain? How long? It didn’t matter. “I’m angry! I’m angry with you!” she screamed, looking at the sky. Then at the sea, at the ground beneath her. The gods couldn't save one mortal. One devoted mortal. They wouldn't save the Oracle. They would only steal at her life. They would grant her no protection from simple human cruelty even. The woman fell onto the ground, fingers scratching against the cold wet stones. Her fist hit the ground once. Twice. And she got up and looked behind her where two men were. The sound of fighting had stopped, and she hoped that no one else died tonight. The Glaive started walking to her allies. First, she saw Ravus, hobbling back to his sister, and Ignis, sitting on the ground, alive. She rushed past the silver-blonde man to offer a hand to another. The hand was too warm against her own frozen skin. Too warm to like the sensation. The fighting seemed to keep Ignis’s blood running hot, while she just sulked in the rain. She helped him up and was about to put his arm across her shoulder, but he declined. Nonetheless, she walked very close to him, just in case. 

“But…a part of me always hoped…” they both heard Ravus’s breaking point, “that I might see you happy one day. Your burdens lifted, free to live and love as you please.” A broken man. Right now he was a shell of a man. And he had the right to be broken, to be vulnerable, to cry. She envied that. Because she wasted it already and it was for nothing.

“You would have made a beautiful bride,” Nox Fleuret spoke softly. The man lifted Luna’s body, his hand under her head, supporting her gently. He was looking at his little sister’s face for the last time. “Even in death the Oracle does not rest. Only once the darkness is dispelled is her calling truly fulfilled,” Tenebrean prince spoke with pride. He pressed her head to his chest, cradling her like a child. She was dead and gone. Even Ignis reacted to the scene they witnessed. The woman realized that she could no longer feel anything but the void. It was a temporary feeling because she reached the darkest and lowest point of grief. The problem was she’d crawl out of it and the feelings would hit her like a sea wave during a storm leaving her drowning in guilt and woe. She relished that void inside her for now.

What the –

That was not she expected. Luna, in golden light, floating above the waves of the sea. No, she was the light. She was glowing from the inside as beautiful as ever. Ravus was right: she’d make a beautiful bride. Most beautiful. She looked at peace and unharmed and it was painful to realize that she wasn’t among the living anymore. That’s the final goodbye.

“And as in life, I know she will confront that challenge with a smile on her face,” the sense of pride never left Ravus’s voice. A coping mechanism to supersede the grief and sadness and the loss with pride and admiration. Soldiers often do so for their lost comrades. Lunafreya smiled at her brother, kindly and with sympathetic sadness. She wasn’t sad about her death, she was sad for her brother. It pained her to see him hurt even in death. And then, Luna smiled at her too. Her smile was still kind but it was not sympathetic. The Oracle smiled apologetically.

“Oh, Sister… Please don’t go,” High Commander made a step towards the ghost of the woman who was his blood. The Glaive moved towards him, ready to grab him at any moment and stop him from doing something stupid. The man took another step and tumbled, “Please don’t leave me…” He fell to the ground, breaking again and again, crying for his lost family. The woman’s hand levitated above his shoulder, unsure whether she had the right to offer comfort. Even if she did, how would she go about it…

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her eyes wandered away from a broken man. Only to see another who was about to be broken if things went any more sorrowful. Though, the pain of others affected him greatly still. He shut his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line. She didn’t feel guilty in front of him. She did what she couldn’t do for Ravus and placed her hand on his shoulder: _I know, I am here too, I feel this too and I hope it helps even a little._ She doubted, however, that it did. Green eyes met hers for a fleeting moment and then fell to look at a women’s hand on his shoulder.

He looked like hell. She took in the whole picture of the Lucian. She must look about the same. Yet hell doesn’t compare to what Ravus must have looked like. He hid his face, and none dared to prey on his moment. They didn’t have the right to consolation and even if they did, they couldn't. Everyone decided to be left alone to their devices of agony.

She stood there between two men. One just lost his sister, his only family. The other looked like he was about to lose the same thing. And she already did once. Twice. What’s there left for her but to watch someone else suffer, sacrifice and die?

Scientia checked the unconscious prince and, apparently, vital signs were good enough to reassure him. The unmistakable expression of relief on his face spoke a lot. She sat on the cold and wet ground, waiting and preparing for all the feelings to consume her again. Her eyes traveled to the unconscious heir. He was still a boy, she thought, looking at the young face that still remained that youthful roundness on his cheeks. What was he again? Twenty? Carrying the weight of the future of our star and all upon it. His father died, his betrothed is dead; he lost his home, the throne means nothing now. Yet here he was, fighting Leviathan for its blessing, to purge this damned star of its scourge. For a second, she thought that he’d die too. Maybe not today, but he will. _Death waits for us all in the end. It’s only a matter of time how fast you going to reach your end._ It still rained, and she was glad she was wearing her Kingsglaive attire, she wasn’t soaking wet… not yet. 

“Iggy!” a deep male voice shouted. The woman got up to the ground immediately, reading herself for a fight.

“Gladio!” Ignis responded. A large man in black attire came to the Altar. His hands were covered in ink. She knew that tattoo. Clarus Amicitia, Shield of the King, had one just like that. That would make this man an Amicitia. Gladiolus Amicitia, Shield of the Prince and a Crownsguard member.

“Are you alright? Where’s Prompto?” Ignis was still shaken and worried, despite the fact that his friend was here. But Gladiolus didn’t respond, in fact, he didn’t even look at his friend anymore. He looked at Ravus who was still shaken to the core and mourning.

“Well, well. What have we here?” Gladio slowly marched closer to Ravus. And she didn’t want him to. The Glaive bared her weapon and stood between the two. The man looked at her. She stared back. It felt strange to look him in the eye. Amicitia opened his mouth to say something but no one ever heard that.

“You…” High Commander said with such scorn that the royal family of Lucis would be jealous of. “Ardyn!”

A wicked smile appeared on the face of a man who had the tattoo of an eagle, “Oh dear. Was I that transparent?” The wicked smile never disappeared, but the face has changed. A face she was vaguely familiar with. The burgundy hair, black and white attire and that devilish grin. She saw this man before, and it was in Insomnia. The night before the treaty signing. He was there, silent and aloof, withdrawn from the celebration. He was known as the Chancellor of Niflheim and what he just did was a very adept magic trick. A man who can pull one expert trick always has another one. It happened all too quick for them to react accordingly. A trap elaborately set up. They walked in and made themselves comfortable.

The party of three and the unconscious prince were surrounded by Nifleheim soldiers. The Glaive and Crownsguard were subdued despite their attempts to fight back. They put Ignis on the ground, she was placed on her knees with a gun barely touching her temple. The feel of a muzzle beside your temple would submit anyone. Ravus was subdued just as she was, on his knees, though, no gun at his temple. He was physically restrained. Perhaps they understood that he had nothing to lose. But the Glaive couldn't help nut count enemy's number. Too few soldiers for subduing three people. 

“The game’s up, my boy,” the Chancellor spoke and kicked Ignis with his boot. It made a dull sound upon impact. She winced, witnessing underhanded violence against the helpless.

“Well, aren’t you an inconvenience?” Ardyn looked back at her.

“Glad you think so highly of me, Chancellor,” she said through her teeth. Even if she summoned a weapon, the bullet will go through her skull before she would be able to do anything. And dying for nothing would be stupid.

“Pardon my forgetfulness, but have we crossed paths before?” the man looked amused.

“Not officially.”

“Ah, but of course. A Kingsglaive,” he mused, his tone sweet but poisonous. “Not many of you are left. Those who didn’t betray the King whose power they were granted, that is,” same wicked smile adorned Ardyn’s face. He made a few steps towards her, the smile never vanished. It scared her if she was honest with herself. What he did terrify her. He posed as a different man but he also summoned and dispelled his weapon just like Ignis and she could. Whatever he was - and she doubted he was a mere human - he was powerful, wicked and dangerous.

“I believe it’s you who was following the Oracle,” he continued to walk toward her, steadily, lazily. “Another dog of _hers_ ,” disdain, almost hatred. “Say, did I ruin your plans of keeping the Oracle safe?” Her brows furrowed in brief confusion. What does he mean he ruined her plans? The stain on the white dress…

“Bastard!” she shouted and launched forward. Mistake. She heard a click above her ear, a trigger pulled halfway.

“What?” she saw that fake expression of surprise and offense on Chancellor’s face. “Do you think I could hurt an Oracle?” he never broke his act. _“I would never,”_ the corner of his lips twitched slightly. He turned around on his heels, refocusing on Ignis, who was knocked unconscious right now, but a grunt escaped his mouth, meaning he’d wake up soon. Izunia walked to him, took out a dagger and squatted before the knocked out Crownsguard.

“Come now,” Ardyn with the same poisonous sweetness. “Why not follow your liege’s lead and stop resisting?”

“Never!”

“You risked life and limb to save the “King of Kings”,” Chancellor continued to speak as walked to Prince Noctis, “only to witness him fail so spectacularly.” He sat down at the head of the Chosen, dagger in his hand. “You must be so disappointed.”

“Unhand him!” Ignis demanded. She pitied the man who decided to make a demand while not in a position to make one. Ignis feared no one when it came to his liege, and that was dangerous. To him.

“I know I am,” Chancellor continued as if only he was talking. “Oh, what good is a world that only ever lets you down? Why not end it all right here?” Ardyn reached to lift Noctis’s head. She couldn’t tell if he was speaking to Ignis or her. Because his words got to her much better than they did to the man on the ground. Yes, the world has only ever let her down. The world gave her very little and took away so much. The world didn’t care about being fair and just. The world never stopped when she needed to take a breath. So, why not end it all right here?

“No…” a voice pulling her a swirl of thoughts. “You can’t…”

A dagger lifted above the Chosen King, the only one who can save the star from being consumed by the scourge. _No, that’s not what he died for! Nyx didn’t die only for his sacrifice to be wasted like this._ She won’t allow it. He died for those who wanted to see the future and he included her among those people. He died for her too. She failed her King, her brother in arms and the Oracle. She cannot fail their sacrifice too.

“Noooct!” a desperate scream that wasn’t hers. But the dagger never made to the heart of the Chosen. Instead, another found its way to Ardyn’s hat, knocking it off his head and sending it flying. Glaive looked to her side to see Ravus standing there, exasperated, free of the hold on him.

“My, you two have certainly become fast friends,” Izunia let go of Noctis, focusing instead on the man who interrupted him. Ardyn picked up his hat as he made his way to Ravus, placing it on a soldier’s head. She needed to do something, right now, or Ravus won’t be the last of Nox Fleuret family. The diversion that High Commander created hadn’t worn off the soldier yet, she used it to her advantage, taking her chance of being shot on spot. The gun at her temple, she grabbed it and aimed as far away from her head as she could. A shot. It ringed in her ear, confusing her, disorienting. The soldier could have shot again but he didn’t. Just as confused as she was. Because he was human. She took out her kukri. It went right into the soldier’s helmet. The blade mat little resistance from the soft eyeball. It didn’t matter how little she knew about handling Nif’s firearms. It didn’t matter when the target is so close. Pull the trigger and don’t let go until you see a man dead.

The Chancellor only smiled in amusement as he saw her aiming at him. The same smile you’d give a child who attempted to do something they haven’t yet grown up to do. He made a quick hand gesture, his eye traveling from her to the Prince of Tenebrae. The smirk confused the woman for second until she realized that she’s immobilized. She cannot do as much as to pull the trigger. She could hardly take a breath. But that is nothing compared to the flying High Commander had taken.

Magic. Ardyn manipulated it the way she never thought was possible. She always thought of magic as a force that cannot be controlled, not fully. Glaive’s arts were wild and hard to control. Once you threw a fira spell, the fire would come to life on its own. No one had mastery over it anymore. You could summon fire but no command it. Magic was a force that gave as much as it took. But he seemed to be an exception to that rule. He seemed to be of magic.

“Permit me to make a suggestion: rather than follow this flotsam and float away to a watery grave, why not come with me?” Izunia spoke to Ignis.

She was going to die today. Without as much as putting up a fight.

“What do you say?” his words were accompanied by Chancellor’s distinct mannerisms that made everything seem like one grand act. Ignis never gave a verbal answer instead he struggled out of his position of full submission. He struggled a lot less than she expected him too. _This all is one grand act. He should be shot dead._

“I’ll take it as a “no”,” Chancellor of Niflheim spoke as if he knew the answer long before. Suddenly, she could feel her body again. Though, it didn’t feel the same as before. Exhaustion overwhelmed her. The heavy firearm fell from her hands. The Glaive fell on her knees, breathing deeply and desperately.

“I swore an oath to stand with Noct and keep him safe,” the voice of royal retainer among the rain. “Whatever it takes,” — she looked where the voice was coming from, knowing that after such words no good is coming, — “I will protect him!” He slid the ring on his slender finger.

“No!” the woman cried out with such force and terror that it hurt her throat. The man’s screams joined hers. His hand was not burning up like Ravus’s yet but the pain in his voice, in his posture…

“Ah-ah-ahhh! I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ardyn said as if he just witnesses a ridiculous and amusing thing. As if he saw a child poking his finger with a needle due to negligence. Because he knew. He must have. He knew exactly what the Ring of the Lucii would ask in return for its power. And if one was not deserving of it, it would take even more than that. He knew and it amused how selflessly – perhaps even blindly, naïvely and dumbly – royal retainer was acting. Ignis threw his head back, his hands on his eyes, trying to fight the screams tearing their way out of his throat. She was confused about whether those were tears in her eyes or the rain was heavier now. One thing she was sure is that she wasn’t ready to witness the price the ring asked for.

A suppressed but genuine laugh coming from Izunia. “You are a twisted man,” she said. Ardyn laughed again but not as hearty as before. This time his laugh was sinister and dark. It whispered: _Yes, I know._

“I may not be of royal blood, but if a Glaive can harness its power, then so can I!” Scientia spoke again. She would cry again telling him not to what he cannot undo. She wanted to scream that the Kingsglaive soldier that harnessed the power of the ring is dead. But she couldn’t because it was too late.

“Kings of Lucis, lend me your strength!” were the words she heard before another wail of pain. She didn’t look, couldn’t force herself to. He’ll look like he’s burning up from the inside and he’ll be gone before sunrise. A long, excruciating cry is just the beginning of an endless payment for harnessing the royal power. She had no doubts anymore: those were tears in her eyes. The rain was cold, but the water on her cheeks was running hot.

“Well,” Ardyn said calmly. The woman was hoping the poison in his voice was going to kill her already but it didn’t. The sentence was never finished. She suddenly felt all alone. When she looked around, she was. Imperial soldiers restraining Ignis before were dead. Ignis and Ardyn were gone, though, not that far away. Again, she listening to the sounds of fighting from a distance left to watch over the prince. That’s all she was capable of. All that king’s magic, all her training, and all her losses. It all meant nothing as she could nothing to prevent those losses. She would lose and lose again. She lost to Nifleheim twice. She lost her friends, her home. Now she had nothing to lose except for her life. And unless she losses that soon, she’d be forced to watch others going through the same losses. She’d watch their agony and remember her own. And she’d relive it over and over again.

Damn king’s power and damn this cursed star she dwelled upon. Damn the Six. For all their might, they cannot heal their beloved star of its scourge. Instead, they leave to mortals, to be precise, a twenty-year-old man. She’d laugh if she could withstand such cruelty without getting destroyed by it again and again. She could do nothing but watch as tragedy unfolds itself before her eyes. And somehow, tragedy always found a way to force her to watch despite her desire not to. Pain consumed her. Pain for people she will never see again. Pain for days that were to come and bring nothing but more heartache. She felt weak while having magic. Useless despite being able and having a fully functioning body. Full of pain yet empty. _Damn it all, my anguish will linger. And, one day, it will consume me, and, hopefully, I will disappear in it._

“DAMN I…” her voice disappeared but not before turning into a hoarse shriek. A Glaive is a soldier and a soldier is not a savior. A soldier kills. A soldier survives; a soldier does what it takes to fulfill their duty. She forced herself to stand up. She must find Ravus, she must see if he’s alive. Her legs carried her into the direction the man was sent to fly. Magic. What did it give her except for a few fancy tricks to kill and serve? Nothing. It only took and took and took. Through her blurred vision she could recognize a man in white, lying unconscious but breathing steadily. She had to kneel and shake him a bit. He opened his eyes and grabbed her hand on a reflex. It was painful considering the strength in his Magitek hand. She could see the anger in his mismatched eyes, but he didn’t voice it. Slowly he released her and stood up, refusing any help.

“Ardyn...?” Nox Fleuret didn’t have to finish his question to get the answer.

“Busy fighting Ignis,” her voice barely audible.

“He’s no match for—"

“He’s wearing the ring of the Lucii,” she said with anger and sadness. The man looked at her as if she was jesting. She was not. Ravus’s expression was unreadable to her. He was a man full of emotions, but he never knew how to express them. And thus, they soon turned to ire. Perhaps, he was concerned but all she could clearly see was anger. 

She warped to aid Ignis as he stumbled, returning from yet another battle. The Glaive caught him before the man could fall but failed to support his weight. She tried to place him on the ground as gently as she could. He looked…painful. Just by looking at him, she felt odd pain in her chest. There was silver scarring around his left eye, a deep scratch on his nose, a cut on his bottom lip and on his right eyebrow. The scarring was as terrible as it looked painful. The one on his left eye looked like a burn yet it couldn’t be. It had very rough edges like a patch of skin carved out with a dull knife or worse, claws. Condition of the Chosen King didn’t improve yet it didn’t worsen either. Ravus made his way to the conscious man laying on the ground and the woman sitting above him.

“That was rather reckless,” he said. It was peculiar how alike two men were, starting from their accent and ending with their selflessness, loyalty, stupid bravery, and deep emotional attachments. Perhaps that’s why they tried to oppose each other so much.

Ignis grunted in pain before speaking, “Where’s Noct?” The woman was confused by the question as Noctis was exactly where he was left. Ignis could see where his friend was. She and Ravus looked at each other for a briefest of moments. The scarring above his eye wasn’t just to cause physical suffering. The ring always demands a sacrifice. A hand, a life, something you cannot quite replace ever again.

“Is he… alright?” royal retainer asked. _Why was he speaking with such excruciating concern? He just gave something away and he will never have it back._

“More or less – all thanks to you,” Nox Fleuret answered. The woman understood what she read as anger was new-found regard and reverence.

“Thank goodn—" Ignis never finished as he started to cough violently. If this was the ring, healing magic would do nothing to help him. But if this is because of the rain and cold, Glaive’s magic could help. But before she could do anything, she heard a voice she had heard before.

“Iggy! Where are you?” It was the voice of Gladio. But they were tricked once already. Her heart raced.

“Noct! Iggy!” another voice, male but higher.

“Be still,” said Ravus. His tone was surprising to her. “Conserve your strength. You’ve a calling to fulfill.”

“Iggy!” the same young man’s voice.

“As do I,” said High Commander, standing up. “May fortune favour us both. And you as well, Noctis,” he said, turning his head to look at the unconscious prince. Ravus was leaving, walking away from her, Ignis, and Noctis, as he looked back one last time to add, “And you.” He left without looking back again. Without a single halt in his steps. He found resolution. She envied that. In Commander's stead came another man. She saw his face before already. Yet Nox Fleuret walked past him without hesitation and he was the one who could see through the magic trick last time. And why would someone with such exaggerated preciosity use the same trick twice? _This was all one grand act._

A young man came to Noctis’s side. He had golden hair and wore black clothing with a skull on his back. A Lucian. Crown citizen. Crownsguard? A bit too young but passable as a new recruit.

“Who the hell are you?” Shield of the King asked looking at her.

“Friend,” she answered simply. “Of Lady Lunafreya. She has passed.”

“Aren’t you falling behind?” he said with suspicion but turned back for a moment to spare Nox Fleuret a glance. “Ravus’s gone."

“I know,” her reply stripped of emotion. “For hearth and home,” the woman said, summoning her weapon.


	2. Breathe in and breathe out.

Her eyes were staring blankly at that one spot on the ceiling. Her mind was replaying everything that has happened. Gladiolus kneeled to check up on Ignis, checking pulse and breathing rates. She wanted to warn him that his friend will not make it, but the large man didn’t wear an expression of doom. He was very collected. Perhaps it’s the soldier training and learned ability to be cool under pressure. She took a closer look at the man who wore the ring. He was hurt, he looked battle-worn, but very much alive and living. He didn’t look like Nyx after wearing the ring, a man burning up alive.

 _“Please…” Scientia turned his head to Noctis. “…forgive me…”_ She was tired, very tired, but got angry at him for asking for forgiveness. If she hadn’t just met him, she’d slap him across his face. But she had no right to. She observed how Amicitia’s expression changed. A crack in that collected demeanor of his. He understood that something very bad had happened. Something that cannot be undone. He couldn’t grasp it yet but he will in time. She prayed to Astrals she wouldn’t t be near them when he does. Seeing someone else’s pain and sacrifice was too painful for her.

The woman looked at the ring. The sight of it made her even weaker than she already was. Such a small thing, but look at what happened because of it? King Regis died to ensure the ring doesn’t fall to Niflheim. Nyx wore the ring to protect Lady Lunafreya and died. Lady Lunfreya delivered the ring to Noctis and now she was dead. The Ring of the Lucii could take lives, burn a person to ash, demand immense sacrifices and leave naught behind. Shamefully as it was she feared it. As long as she didn’t wear it, it was nothing but a ring in her hands, she knew it, but the fear didn’t go away. Fear lingered between the fibers of her being, waiting to come to the surface and paralyze. But fear was not going to control her, not now, not ever. She took the ring, put into the prince’s hand, forming his hand into a fist, pressing gently for the unconscious body to get the signal. The Ring of the Lucii was his birthright, his legacy, and his burden to bear now. It had finally arrived to the one who was destined to wear it. Noctis’s hand was very cold in hers. He wasn’t cold because he was lying on the cold ground in the rain, soaking in cold tears of the sky. He was cold because his body was too weak to maintain its temperature. They needed to move and fast.

The Shield asked for her name, which she gave without questions, and then he told her to come with. He wasn’t inviting her, he was ordering.

“If I wanted any of them dead, I would have done it and you would never even know,” she said, crippling her voice further, reading the suspicion in the man’s eyes. He graced with his intense gaze and a huff: _I know, it doesn’t change anything._

She was exhausted after so much fighting and running. Exhausted from overusing magic after not having for such a long time, exhausted from crying and being angry and grieving. She didn’t feel hurt but crushed by the weight of something heavy and invisible on her back. But still helped the golden-haired boy to carry Prince Noctis somewhere safe and warm. His name was Prompto Argentum. She guessed right, he was a very green member of the Crownsguard. He was least suspicious of her or, at least, he hid his suspicions much better. The Shield carried Ignis who occasionally grunted in pain. Gladiolus used healing potions on both injured men, but, well, it didn’t change much. Thus, she figured healing magic won’t do anything for either royal retainer nor the Prince. There wasn’t anything she could heal. Both men were hurt by magic far greater than her own.

They made it here, to Leville, together, despite the mistrust expressed towards her. Which was fair, she concluded. He and Prompto kept an eye on her until they could contact Cor Leonis. The Glaive wasn’t surprised that he survived the Fall of Insomnia. Gladiolus offered his phone to her as Cor was on the other end. Talking to Marshall felt a bit unreal to her, she still wanted to question Gladiolus if it was a dream. The Marshall told her where he was right now and where he was headed. He also told her about places where other Glaives stayed or hid or recovered. He mentioned Libertus. The name gave her hope. Someone she knew survived. Cor assured her that she was welcome to join either him or Libertus or any other group of Glaives for that matter. She thanked him, with her hoarse, vanishing voice, for that and for the valuable information. She thanked him for mentioning that Libertus was live. Of course, she asked for personal information of Libertus since that’s who she was planning on finding the moment she set foot in Lucis. Their conversation ended awkwardly. They didn’t have much else to say to each other. 

After having a conversation with Cor, Amicitia trusted her enough to sleep without having to worry about having anyone’s throat slit. Leonis confirmed who she was and said that she could be trusted. It was past midnight when they finally went to sleep. Prompto most kindly and graciously asked her to sleep on the bed that was for him. He joked how she looked like hell and seemed to need a goodnight's sleep a lot more.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. It will be like camping,” he said with a shy smile in his face. “I’ll miss camping,” Prompto added in a whisper. The woman could hear the longing in his voice. The same one would have when something was lost for them forever. Comradery, she knew it well. As a Glaive, she had comrades, brothers in arms. As soldiers, Glaives knew loss better than most. She knew what the boy had lost would never come back to him. Everything about his brothers would change know. He would change too.

The sleep came easy. The sleep wasn’t easy. The nightmare had her shaking and awake at dawn. She’d scream but her voice was almost gone. Only a whisper was drawn from her damaged vocal cords. The woman was trying to pull herself together, repeating the same mantra over and over again in her head: it’s just a nightmare. She heard a familiar muffled wail of pain. She wondered if he slept at all. Most likely, no, note really, Ignis’s pain seemed too much to allow him to sleep. He was delirious, half-conscious. Prompto was sleeping on the floor and he didn’t look at peace or relaxed either. He was in an embryo pose, hugging himself under the blankets. He was to keep watch in case Ignis needed something or, well, if she went rogue, but, apparently, he couldn’t fight exhaustion for long. An occasional shiver ran through his body and he would inhale deeply. For what she knew, he could be having a nightmare as well. On the bed another man would breathe heavily, unevenly, containing his pain with little success. She wasn’t surprised to hear him breathing, though, back at the Altar she never considered him a survivor. But he was. Two men, each drowning in his own suffering. And it’s only in this room. Down the whole, there were another two men. One would be unconscious still, his clouded mind between this world and the other. He’d have to choose where he’d cross. If he chose to stay in this world, he would wake up to yet another loss. And beside him was his Shield, carrying the weight of guilt for not being there to protect his friends, his liege, his brothers. Altissia almost drowned in the sea it was resting upon. These people were on the verge of drowning in pain, guilt, and loss.

 _Breathe in and breathe out. Concentrate._ She was still exhausted and healing magic wasn’t her best skill. She always found doing healing as problematic as trying to ignite a match on a wet surface. Not only did you have to create a spark but you had to make sure that the match caught fire. Offensive magic was easier especially with training Ulric put her through. It was the same match and same wet box but all you needed is to strike a spark. Nyx was extremely skillful with it, but in the end, it changed nothing. She lifted her right hand and placed it on her throat. Can’t take care of others if you can’t take care of yourself. Nothing came out of it. She tried again, closing her eyes in concertation, concentrating on her heartbeat and breathing. She called out to magic, it responded weakly. It had to work but it didn’t. The woman would curse in frustration but why would she worsen the damage done already? All she needed was a bit more power over her own mind. It still lingered on the visions nightmare gracefully provided. She never knew her mind could be so twisted and cruel towards her. The images were too gruesome and too realistic to be called a figment of imagination. Perhaps, she experienced something like this before just blocked out those memories. Or her mind was indeed cruel. Her hand shook in the air as if it was burned. Exhaustion doesn’t help at all, but it didn’t matter. She placed her hand on her throat again, concentrating on creating a healing spell. No need to create anything special. No need to burn the whole box of matches, just ignite one and let it burn slowly to its end. She felt that tingling in on the tips of her fingers that signaled her that healing magic had finally caught spark. Performing healing magic on oneself felt like nothing special. One would just feel better afterward as physical pain disappeared with the cause of it. It had, however, a very interesting side effect when used on others. It was mind-soothing. It didn’t lessen the pain, but it sent a warm and calming sensation all over your body, soothing your mind, allowing it to focus on something other than pain. It sounded reasonable when it came to battlefield because one sure had to be in immense pain to not be able to heal themselves. This mind-soothing trick was too little to offer for anyone right now. But it was all she had and sometimes all you had had to be enough to get by. The woman left her bed, carefully placing herself beside Prompto. It’s just to soothe someone’s dreams; a little help to soothe the young man’s mind. She lifted her hand above the cover and closed her eyes in concertation. She opened her eye only to see how the boy’s face relaxed a bit under the effect of healing magic. It won’t fix what happened – won’t fix anything, to be honest – but it will calm his dreams.

A familiar sound of someone’s suffering. The woman looked back where Ignis was resting. He didn’t seem to move since the moment he was placed on the bed. A heavy sigh. Not his. But she got up anyway and moved herself to the bed of an injured man. She walked around it, slowly, not looking at his face yet. She knew what she’d see but wasn’t used to the image just yet. It was brutal. Yes, she saw blood and open wounds before, but this was different. It was easier to take the suffering if it meant something. She knew it firsthand. When she came back with a broken arm after a battle with Niflheim, when she got a bullet from an MT in her leg, when rigorous training made her muscles stiff, when warping was making her vomit, it was all worth because she could protect her home. But he… his sacrifice, while had meaning to him, may, in fact, changed nothing. Perhaps he didn’t have to sacrifice and suffer in order to save his king. Because it all was a grand act. The Chancellor could have them dead with a snap of his fingers. A bullet in her head and it would all be over. In fact, she should have been the first one to go down. The least interesting character there. Ardyn could toy with Ravus and Ignis, have them murdered and then enjoy killing the Chosen King without anyone bothering him. But he did not. It wasn't his goal. It’s like he didn’t have a goal at all, except, maybe, pure sadistic joy. As if he just wanted to see what could happen. Seeing how the puppet would move by pulling on different strings. Whatever it is Ignis lost, she hoped it wasn’t for some twisted man’s desire. And she would never disclose her thoughts on Chancellor’s actions. She won’t take that from the man who sacrificed willingly. She sat right beside him, allowing him to know about her presence without having to speak. _Breathe in and breathe out._ Her eyes reluctantly looked at the man on the bed. The same silver scarring adorned young face over the left eye, on the lower lip, on the nose, on the right eyebrow. His eyes were still closed, he hadn’t open them since. He was clenching his jaw in pain, heavy puffs coming out from his nose. The man tried to contain his suffering but he was only human. She tried to guess his age by the looks of him. All she came up is that he wasn’t much older than his liege.

“I can’t do much,” the woman confessed only loud enough for Ignis to hear, “but I guess you know that already.” The man didn’t answer. Well, she didn’t expect him to. She raised her hand above man’s abdomen summoning magic. Just like she had done before. This time it came easier, the magic answered her call right away. A barely audible sigh of relief. It wasn’t much, she could guess as his jaw was still clenching, his eyes shut. For all the power Glaives were given, there was nothing the Glaive could to help the scarring. 

“The hell you think you doing?” Gladiolus’s voice was loud enough to wake anyone sleeping above this room. Prompto jumped from his bedding immediately. She lazily turned her head to look at Gladiolus.

“Healing,” her voice was calm. Too calm. She wasn’t cool under pressure nor was she calm because she didn’t do anything wrong. She was calm because she couldn’t care less about what can happen after this. She would do what she could, which is very little, and then she would have to move on, go where she could do more. This was not her place, there were no place for her. No purpose she could fulfill, no goal to chase. In Altissia there was nothing left for her but ashes and salt. Beside her Chosen Prince, there was no space for her unless behind him.

“Someone regained their gift of speech,” he said with spite. “Then why isn’t it healing him?” the man asked skeptically as he moved closer to her. She could tell him what happened at the Altar of the Tidemother, explain why his friend isn’t healing, why potions and elixirs are useless and why there’s scarring on Ignis’s face. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t bear the burden of telling them. The truth was a heavy burden to carry and she felt like she carried enough unless she wanted to be crashed.

“Why is that? You have king’s magic,” annoyance too clear in man’s voice. He moved to her in a very dominant manner but now his arms were crossed on his chest. His shoulders were lowered, his stance unsure. And while his eyes were piercing her, his lips were in a thin line. Funny that his body language betrays his nature. She could use it but she wished she cared more to do so.

“I do, but I am not above it,” she answered calmly.

“What the hell happened there?” Gladio threw his arms in anger. Anger is rather infectious. And her calm, indifferent demeanor got infected.

“It’s not for me to tell!” she shouted back. Her eyes registered a very lost look on Prompto’s face. He looked like a child whose parents were fighting. He probably wanted to stop them but didn’t know how. Gladiolus held his gaze stoically. Stubbornly. He won’t back down, not with her. The Glaive, however, would back down because her pride was not at stake here. It’s not her friends who were somewhere in between life and death. Her friends were already dead. What is pride when you have lost everything that mattered most?

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at Prompto. She’d put her arms in the air as a sign of giving up but didn’t want to disrupt the spell. She hoped the look of defeat was obvious enough on her. Whatever victory the Shield wanted to get out this, it’s rightfully his. She threw it away. A cough and a grunt of pain came from the man on the bed. The woman looked at Gladiolus and not the man on the bed. The anger he felt, she knew it all too well. He was angry at himself, for the most part, perhaps, he was also a bit enraged by danger his friend put himself in. For sure he felt like he failed at being the protector. She knew that feeling. It’s just that she wasn’t capable to feel it yet. Her emotions were sucked into the void, but they would come back. Like anesthetic, this emotional numbness would waiver in time. The emptiness she felt would soon be filled with all kind of emotions and it would hurt as much as it hurt before.

It was Prompto who reached out to help his friend. He seemed to have a six sense when it came to the needed of the injured man. What he needed right now was a glass of water. Gladiolus volunteered to go and fetch some. 

“You know,” Argentum started awkwardly, “I should be sorry. I should have said something.”

“No, no, don’t,” the woman shook her head and closed her eyes. She was a bit tired of people apologizing for things that they should not apologize for. Forgiveness, she thought, oh, how she wanted forgiveness. But all the people who she wanted to be forgiven by were dead now. Perhaps in the afterlife, where she would meet the Astrals and all the souls of the dead, she could be forgiven. Somehow, for now, she had to live on.

“You…you just tried to help…”

The woman wanted to respond, to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about. But her mind drifted somewhere where it was dark and peaceful. Where the guilt wasn’t domineering her mind and soul. Her hand dropped on the man she was healing.

“Hey there,” Prompto’s voice was filled with worry and surprise. She felt a hand at her side, catching her from falling. She opened her eyes to see Prompto reaching out from the other side of the bed, stopping her from falling on Ignis. Her body wanted to shut down.

“S-sorry,” she started to pull herself back.

“Maybe you should go back to sleep,” he suggested as he put his hand on her shoulder in reassurance. The woman nodded, got up and dragged herself to the bed. She fell on it and passed out. She wasn’t awake to see Gladiolus coming back into the room with a few bottles of water. She never saw how the man walked right to her bed with the intention to wake her up. But another one stood in his way. She never saw how Prompto stood in front of Gladio, arms raised at each side in protection and resistance. As if he was protecting a child. Two men looked into each other’s eyes for one long minute. In the end, Gladiolus backed away. He made sure to let Prompto know that he didn’t just give up and he won’t just let it slide. He gave water to Ignis, they talked a bit, the three of them. But not for long. It seemed Ignis had finally been able to fall asleep. Gladiolus left the room, leaving Prompto in the presence of two sleeping people.

There were no dreams this time. Just the darkness, the void of her own mind too tired to paint any pictures of happiness or even horror. But awakening was, despite the absence of dreams, like emerging from the water after being pulled to the bottom. There was a mere second of panic because she opened her eyes. She was alive, breathing and, for the most part, unharmed. And she was still in the same room with Prompto and Ignis. Her eyes fixated on one spot on the ceiling because maybe if she stares long enough, she’d go back to sleep. But her mind doesn’t go blank, like a broken player, it rewinds everything that happened again and again. And with every re-run, the void of her emotions started to fill up more and more. Waking up felt like emerging from cold water to the surface and breathing in after holding a breath. And reality filled up her lungs like a cold air that burned upon inhale.

“You’re up?” Argentum asked rather quietly. The woman exhaled loudly disappointed by the fact that she was not going to sleep again.

“Yeah,” was her answer as she turned her head to look at him. “What are you doing?”

Prompto snuggled up in an armchair, playing with a camera. His eyes occasionally went up to check on Ignis who seemed to finally fall asleep. He did look like he was asleep, his fingers occasionally twitched, breathing steady and much more relaxed.

“Going through pictures,” Prompto answered, showing her the screen of the camera for a few seconds. Yet her eyes couldn’t make up whatever it was on the screen. She figured some positive memory from his life. Perhaps involving all the other guys, being happy and carefree. They all could use something positive. She got up from her bed and sat on Ignis’s. With a raise of her hand, she did what she did before.

“Maybe you need to eat before you…” Argentum started but couldn’t continue his sentence.

“What? Healing magic?” she asked, studying the young man’s face. His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. And he was steady as those pictures he was looking at. Uncomfortable was her best guess.

“Yeah, you know, last time you almost passed out,” he smiled. She was grateful that he tried to smile genuinely. And he did, it’s just the truth was ugly. He was sad. Sad. Such a word never does describe what a person is feeling. Sadness is such an understatement. He was lost and sorrowful and worried beyond measure. His smile was dreary. His smile was sad.

“He’ll be alright, he’s been sleeping for hours now,” Prompto said with bleak confidence and cheer. “I think,” that chirpy tone broke, he swallowed. “I think he’s getting better.”

“Yeah.”

The Glaive stayed for another ten minutes, casting the spell over Ignis’s sleeping body. No progress on his wounds or his state. How long would it take for him to recover? How long would it take for the King to recover? She hoped, selfishly, that by the time King Noctis recovered, she’d be long gone. And if the Astrals were merciful on her, she’d be forgotten by the three enough to not mention her name more than once.

She walked out of the room without saying anything else. Perhaps Argentum was right and Ignis was indeed getting better. The problem was, he would never recover. His life was not taken, something else must have been. Something had to be taken from him — price for using the power of Kings — and it can never be returned.

“You,” the woman groaned in annoyance. Someone was waiting for her outside, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

“Me,” Amicitia confirmed. “C’mon, I’m planning on having dinner myself.” The woman shrugged, confused by a change in their interactions, but she didn’t have much choice but to follow. They didn’t even try to pretend at conversation. He didn’t care, she didn’t care. What did they have to say to each other? They could see through each other too clearly. One was hiding his pain behind anger, the other was hiding her pain behind indifference. Why try and break this act of theirs? It wouldn’t help either of them. They don’t have the right to ruin what the other considered to be the only way to carry on.

“Among the four of us, Iggy is the cook, so…” he said as he offered a cup of hot noodles to her. She waved it off. It didn’t matter as long as it was food. She doubted she would be able to taste anything. Her body seemed numbed and her mind was way to removed from reality. She didn’t want to be here. Here, in Altissia, with her friends dead and her home gone. She wanted to be somewhere else, to be someone else.

“I’m sorry,” Gladio said finally. He opened his mouth to say something else.

“I get it,” the woman interrupted. “Your friends are…” she couldn’t finish this sentence but there was no need to. They both knew exactly how bad the situation was, no need to remind anyone about it. “I was there with them but refuse to say a word. And you feel you failed them, I get it,” her voice broke for on the last sentence. “I am a total stranger, so you are under no obligations to be open and vulnerable with me so, please, shut up.”

“I get it, you want the whole world to shut up,” he said politely yet dispassionate.

“How’s the King?” she asked more out of politeness than worry or curiosity. She dreaded to have to still be here when Noctis awakes. Because if she was still there then there would be the introduction. He will not recognize her, for sure, but he would still ask what she was doing here. And what would she tell? She was here because she was with Lady Lunafreya. She was here because she did what Nyx Ulric asked her to do. To see the Oracle safely to Altissia. She was here because she wanted to protect the young woman who managed to become her friend. She failed miserably and pathetically. How could she stand in front of her liege and tell him that his betrothed had passed? And if she could withstand that, he would ask more questions and the more answers she would give, the closer she’d be to her demise. What if she had to tell him that Glaives betrayed his father? How would his face look like when she told him Drautos killed King Regis? Would he blame her for not saving Luna and his father? It didn’t matter, she already blamed herself. Even if by some chance he forgave her, she would never forgive herself. If there was a chance to escape Altissia before the prince’s awakening, she was going to take it. Because, otherwise, she would drown in shame and misery and blame.

“Same,” the man answered. He managed to hide his emotions pretty well. She almost missed the barely audible worry and fear in his voice.

“Ignis seems to get better,” she said coldly, “according to Prompto.”

“I know.”

“I will try to leave tomorrow.”

“I get it,” he said with a dismal smirk. And they didn’t speak again. They didn’t want to dwell on the topics that brought them nothing but distress. Despite the training they were put through, they knew that the other was a human. No need to push the ones who are already on the edge. She ate her food as fast as she could which wasn’t a smart decision. For the taste of the food she cared not, but she should have considered the temperature. The noodles were hot and burned her tongue. Tears appeared in the corner of her eyes because the sensation in her throat was too powerful to ignore. Gladiolus never saw that because they never looked at each other.

Prompto asked Gladio to tell Noctis that Ignis was getting better and that they were eating CupNoodles while he was taking a princely nap. The man promised to do just that before he returned to the room he was spending all the time in. Prompto was positive that his friend would make it back. Another believer. Gladiolus didn’t seem quite the believing type. Neither did Clarus, at least not how she remembered him. Clarus was a man with a strong system of values and standards. It to be expected that he passed down those values and standards to his son and the next Shield of the King. Gladiolus was not a believer but a doer. And it drove him crazy that there was nothing he could do. The Glaive suspected that she was one of the reasons why Amicita never switched places with Prompto. Gladiolus and she saw each other too clearly and they didn’t like it.

She was sitting in the armchair where Prompto was sitting in the morning. She refused to take the bed again because there was no need. In the morning she would venture out to look for a way out of Altissia. The city was less of a ruin here, the furthest parts from the Altar of the Tidemother. In fact, a good part of it survived. Therefore, a good amount of people could come back to their homes. Also, there had to be some relief effort and, possibly, search and rescue. The boats had to run between Altissia and Galdin Quay.

“So, you’ll be leaving soon?” Argentum asked from the bed. Apparently, sleep didn’t come for him as he was laying in bed in staring at the ceiling. The woman wondered if he looked at the same spot she was.

“Yes,” she confirmed. Her mind didn’t miss the fact that Amicitia didn’t seem to mention exactly when she would be leaving. Intentional or disregard.

“Won’t you stay until Noct wakes up?”

“I…” her voice broke off.

 _I want to run away_ , she wanted to say _. I don’t have the strength to face King Noctis_ , her mind told her. _I can’t stay here, it’s too much. I failed. I failed everyone I hoped to never fail. I cannot stay here because there’s nothing for me but a reminder of my own fateful failings. I am going to run and I won’t stop._

“How’s Noct?” a voice asked. The woman looked at the man on the bed. He spoke, his voice steady, though, a bit raspy. The golden-haired boy looked relieved and a bit surprised. He jumped off the bed and sat on the edge of Ignis’s bed. 

“Hasn’t woken up yet,” Prompto said. Unlike Gladiolus, he didn’t quite hide emotions as good. His voice betrayed everything about his fear and torment. Scientia tried to get up from a bed but was stopped by his friend. The latter offered help in trying to get Ignis in a semi-sitting position. It seemed that Ignis wanted to have a talk and who would Prompto be if he couldn’t help his friend to gain a bit of dignity.

“Thank you, Prompto,” the man spoke with gratitude. Such gratefulness that it made her heart ache. How long was it since she thanked someone? How long was it since she was thanked so genuinely? It was a very precise puncture in her well-crafted armor. It reminded her that she was alone. There wasn’t anyone by her side to offer a hand. No one she could talk to in time of need. And she knew that such loneliness was a greater enemy to her than her grief. Grief doesn’t kill, but the inability to express, share, and get over it did.

Prompto and Ignis were true with their intentions. The former wanted to give all the help that he could give without expecting anything in return. He didn’t need to be asked to do it. And it seemed that it was exactly what Ignis needed. Because he couldn’t bring himself to ask for help that he so very much needed. He didn’t ask for anything to be brought for him, not even water this time. He just asked about the current state of everything around him. How their friends were doing, what day it was and how long was Noctis out… 

“Can I have a word with our new ally?” Ignis asked. The Glaive turned her head to him, confused by his way of addressing her. It seemed funny that he still considered her an ally. She was retrieving soon. “In private,” the man added. Prompto looked unsure about this surprising request. His blue eyes looked at the Glaive, who shrugged to express her incomprehension of such request, and back at his friend.

“S-s-sure,” he nodded.

“Thanks, Prompto,” she said with a faint smile. The idea of having a conversation tete-a-tete didn’t please her much. Because it allowed for many questions to be raised, many subjects to be brought up. Questions she didn’t want to answer and subjects she did not desire to discuss. She couldn’t wait till morning to find her escape.

When the door closed, leaving them alone, Ignis turned his head to the woman. Well, he tried to, considering where her voice was coming from before. His understanding of the environment around him wasn’t precise. He sure as hell could hear, but when it came to his eyesight? She doubted that very much.

“How much do you remember?” the woman decided to take the initiative in the conversation before it could be taken away. She asked because she wanted to know if he knew what happened. Did he experience any memory loss? Did he remember wearing the Ring of the Lucii? Did he remember fighting the Chancellor of the Niflheim? How he begged for forgiveness?

“I remember everything before passing out,” the man answered simply. His tone was measured. The woman could only guess that he had the whole conversation planned out. Meaning, he had something important to say. She didn’t want him to say it, whatever it was. She would leave as she could. And he most likely heard that part.

“You are leaving soon?” Ignis asked in the same manner.

“Yes.”

“You will not wait for your king to awake?”

“No.”

“Would you reconsider?”

A huff from her, a sign of surprise and outrage, “No.”

“My wounds have not mended. It may take a while until they do,” he continued in the same deliberate manner of his.

“I don’t want to sound mean, but I don’t think your wounds will mend,” she didn’t share that demeanor of his. Her blood was slowly boiling but she couldn’t understand why. There’s no point in getting angry, there’s no reason. Then why did she? She didn’t know how to stop it either. “Your wounds are inflicted by the ring.” She moved across the room, shortening the distance between her and the man on the bed. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was ire. She didn’t have the right, she knew, yet she did it anyway. She got angry. “I know it, you know it. Don’t tiptoe around it. Not with me. Your wounds cannot be undone,” her state was irate, but her body was shaking as if in fright as she was sitting next to the man on the bed. There was a lump in her throat that was not caused by the hot food she consumed earlier. It was because she was about to cry. She wouldn’t, the woman told herself. She saw him open his mouth – he couldn’t see the tears on her cheeks – and stopped him from talking.

“If you want to ask me to see the King awake," her attempts at controlling her shaking voice failed, "my answer is no. If you want me to accompany the King or go in your stead, the answer is the same," she finished. The man lowered his head to signify his understanding of her decision despite his disapproval. He faced her this time precisely, his closed eyes on a perfect eye level with her teary ones.

“May I ask you a question?” the man asked gently. There was no deliverance behind this question. In fact, it almost felt like he cared about her tears. Funny that she didn’t care about them, just didn’t want anyone to see them. Well, perhaps, it was right that she was crying in front of a blinded man. A sob mixed with approval implied her agreement to be questioned again. “Why are you crying now?” Ignis asked as his lips were in a sad smile. His hand traveled around the bed in hesitation if he should take her hand for comfort or not. She was the one who saw his hand searching for hers and that’s why she was the one to pull herself up and leave the bed.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I don’t know.” Because she didn’t know what caused her to cry right now. She blamed it on all the tension building up inside her as the dam was broken now. Or maybe it was a simple realization of her losses and loneliness. The wounds she cannot heal on her own as she pathetically feels the need for someone to help her. There wasn’t anyone who could, though. Or maybe it was all the anger that she didn’t know how to let go otherwise. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the tears for the man who will never see the world around him, the faces of his friends or his own aging reflection. Maybe she was crying for the sacrifices she knew she couldn’t make but should have. Perhaps the reason for her tears was regret and sympathy. Luckily or not, her tears could not flow freely. Very soon after, Gladiolus barged into the room with a relieved expression on his face. He was relieved to see his friend come back to the world of the living. Prompto was smiling. Not the dreary smile he wore before, this one was happier, cheerful even. And the three of them reconciled, talking and discussing the things that mattered the most right now. She wasn’t needed there so she retreated to the balcony, closing the door behind her. Isolating herself from the three men. It didn’t seem like anyone noticed her absence.

She never slept that night and never counted how long she’d been in isolation on the balcony. There weren’t many lights outside, no one was talking on the streets. The smoke wasn’t in the air anymore, only salt. It seemed that the world was recovering better than she did. Gladiolus was right, she wanted the whole world to shut up, to stop, freeze and time so that she could heal and catch up with it. But the world didn’t give a damn if one was hurting. She was back inside the room where Prompto was asleep already and Ignis… Ignis wasn’t sleeping anymore. He seemed as if he was deep in thought, though, she would never know what he was thinking about. Maybe he was remembering what had happened recently or planning their course of action. It mattered not. She would leave no matter what. The four of them can carry on their mission, whatever it is now, without anyone’s help. Yet the silence in the room was making her anxious. They were both awake but never said a word to each other while being in the same room.

“You said that Noctis will come to the occasion when he realizes the gravity of his calling,” the woman never looked at his face as she started to him. “He ought to do it soon.” He didn’t say anything, although, she gave a long enough pause for him to fill in. He did not. “With the Oracle dead, he is the only one who can ward off the darkness.” The sun was rising, a sign of a new day. It doesn’t feel like a new day but a perpetual nightmare. Ignis didn’t say anything to her, and she felt disappointed by the fact that he didn’t try bribing her with wise words or sharing his faith in Noctis. He didn’t say anything. She felt cheated for some reason.

* * *

She was at the docks and couldn’t wait to get on a boat and leave Altissia. Serious negotiation skills were required to convince the captain to take her on board. And, as expected, he asked for a favour. Luckily, it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. All that was left to do was to wait for someone to call her to come aboard and it would be over. But that would still be a few hours after. For now, she needed to busy herself with anything that would help the time pass. She was aiming to meet Libertus since he was the only one she knew to be alive and a comrade. She’d find Libertus and together they could join on other Glaives, they would fight off the Nifleheim or hunt daemons. Anything, really, as long as it served a purpose. Her purpose. The mind is funny this way, the woman couldn’t find anything else to do except for sitting at the fishing docks, her boots barely touching the water as she dangled her feet, looking at the horizon. Soon she would be heading there, Altissia would grow smaller and smaller as the distance got greater between her and the horrors the city witnessed. It would soon be over, and everything could be left behind. She would move on, eventually, she hoped. The salt in the air wouldn’t assault her senses anymore. The mixture of salt and smoke would be just a memory. She would exchange it for the dust and greens of Lucis. All she had to do is wait patiently. And she would if not for the footsteps behind her, alerting her that her time alone was over.

“Packed up your bags?” a familiar voice spoke. Disappointed by the fact that the conversation was not going to be about her getting on board, she decided not to participate in this…banter. "I guess so," he added.

“How could you live your post?” the Glaive asked without looking back. Behind her was none other than Gladiolus Amicitia. Glaive doubted that the Shield came here to bid her farewell and nice-knowing-you.

“Ignis took over,” he answered, irate. The woman was surprised by such a quick return to duty when it came to Ignis, “Ignis, huh.” Now she wondered if Ignis told them. If he told his friend about wearing the Ring of the Lucii to ensure Noctis’s safety. And what price he had to pay for that. How did they react? Were they angry at his recklessness, at themselves for not being there? Did they just accept it as something that needed to be done? How did it change them? But she didn’t dare to ask. In case he didn’t do it yet. She didn’t want to push Ignis by accidentally saying something she shouldn’t have. It’s among four of them - she is an outsider.

“Glad I could catch you,” Gladiolus said genuinely.

“Why is that?” the woman asked.

“Cor called me. Asked for you to contact him.”

“That may prove problematic…”

“Here,” he offered his phone simply.

“Thank you,” she said as her hand grasped the phone.

“Don’t mention it." He meant it.

* * *

The window of the truck lowered down, and a smiling face greeted her. A round face, far from clean-shaven, but it was a familiar face. She returned the smile happily. It was Libertus, driving a truck, telling her to get in. The woman obliged. She was overjoyed to not have to smell salt or hear the waterfalls. The sound of the truck, tires gliding on the road, the smell of gasoline were more comforting than the presence of Libertus on her left. He looked very much the same but more tired and, well, older. Older than he should have looked right now. But maybe that what happens to people who go through what he went through. She couldn’t tell how much older she looked like because she wouldn’t be able to spot the difference. Yet no remarks regarding her looks – except that she looked sleep-deprived and very scruffy – were made. Libertus had to give her some credit, she spent the night in the caravan with two hunters. Worrying about appearance wasn’t a priority. So, maybe, she didn’t look that different to him. Or Ostium simply couldn’t remember how exactly she looked like until he saw her. They weren’t very close, just knew each other through the line of duty and, of course, Nyx. Ulric had trained her as he did many of those who could use the king’s magic to warp. That was the history they shared. But they were both Glaives without a king or home. Comradery came easily in such situations.

“What were you doing in Altissia?” Libertus asked.

“Having a vacation,” she answered, discouraging from having this conversation.

“News have it that the Empire attacked the city,” Libertus Ostium could not be discouraged.

“They are not wrong.”

“You are not saying something.”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“I know, but I am still asking,” he pressed. The answer didn’t come. She had no energy to have this talk, not now. Possibly, not ever. Because talking about it would force her to open wounds she desperately tried to disinfect and patch up. The woman didn’t plan to carve open her heart right now. It’s not that she didn’t like or trust Libertus, it was the fact that he wasn’t exactly the man she would expect to help her. He didn’t come across as the man who would offer something to help to stop the bleeding after she’d open those wounds of hers. They were comrades but not friends. At least, not yet. They bonded over their duty and mutual grief, not out of desire to help each other. Because that would have to go two-ways and she wasn’t capable of it. He asked the same questions again, a few times, but, upon receiving no answer, gave up. Their ride wasn’t silent only for the music on the radio, the wind coming in from the lowered windows and the sound of a roaring engine. At their next stop, she overheard an interesting and disturbing conversation of three hunters. Three of them were discussing the next hunt, apparently, and one mentioned something dreadful. One of them swore on his brother’s grave that the nights were getting significantly longer. After this, the conversation turned into a dispute, one accusing the other of being paranoid or miscalculation. And hey, seasons change too. But for some reason, she knew it wasn’t any of that. The death of the Oracle had to have an impact on the world. The Oracle communed with the Gods, healed afflicted by the starscourge and blessed the lands of Eos. The world now stood on one pillar for survival. The King of Kings will have to grasp the gravity of his calling and fulfill his destiny. Isn’t it what Ignis believed in? What did she believe in?

“Hey,” she asked Libertus when they got back on the road. “Heard that talk about nights getting longer?”

“Hard not to."

“Do you believe it?”

“Time will tell.”

She didn’t want to believe it, but time did tell. It said that the nights were getting longer and longer. If it continued, there would only be night. They knew it. It would continue, they knew that too. And one day, the dawn never came.


	3. Reminiscence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter has a lot of flashbacks. They are marked with "*".

She expected herself to cry or to get angry at the world when the dawn never came. It was easy to cry or to get angry at the unfair world. But in fact, she felt nothing but mere sadness. That surprised her. She longed for intense emotions that would drive her. But there was nothing but mere sadness. Her eyes looked at the sky to see the stars gone. Absolute darkness and the only light left is the one they made themselves. Yet she still looked at the starless sky and asked herself if he watched them from the afterlife. Would he be disappointed in her? Because she wanted to be just like him and failed at it in all possible ways. He was the Hero. He was the protector. Nyx was everything she wanted to be. But she was nothing like him in the end. She was nothing but miserable, pathetic debacle. So much for wanting to be the hero.

The first year of darkness was the hardest. The first months of the first year was…

The terror that fills you when you realize the sun is not going to shine upon you again is indescribable. Ten years of darkness numbed that terror. The years passed numbed even the memory of it. She vaguely remembered what it was like in Lestallum as people were seeking refuge. She traveled with refugees from Insomnia for a short period of time and still couldn’t compare that with Lestallum. It’s not that The Wall was no longer obstructing the stars above. It wasn’t the treason, the plot and regicide. It was not about Empire’ hunger for war. The dawn never came that day. The dawn never came after that day. It still hasn’t come.

Compared to what it used to be nine years ago, Lestallum was doing its best. The streets were no longer flooded with people needing shelter, water and food. The sobs and cries were not filling of the silence in the ever-present night. One could not sense panic or terror walking around the City of Light. Instead, one very observant would sense the heavy acceptance in the air. It was a similar sensation of being at a funeral. The heavy acceptance of dreadful thing that no one can change. Our minds have incredible ability to cope with troubles. We grow accustomed to good things rather quickly. We grow accustomed to bad things as well, given enough time. And time was plenty. It was now coming to ten years since last time they saw the sun.

Children were getting used to the darkness easier than their parents. Perhaps, it’s that their eyes were better for seeing in the dark due to their youth or that they didn’t spend the same amount of days under the sun. And, well, those who were under the age of twenty spent half of their life in the dark already. The younger the child was, the more accustomed to the darkness they were. Some could only vaguely remember what it was like to have the sunlight on their skin. Or how the colours looked different under natural light, without the blueish tint of artificialness. For some, the sunlight was no more a story to be told before bedtime.

She was still alive, breathing the cold air, serving as a Glaive to a king who was gone, to a city that was destroyed and abandoned, to the last beacon of hope. She served as Glaive to her fallen friends, to the people who survived and wanted to keep on living. She wished to have something else to live for. But there was no one left for her except herself. No close friend, no loved one, no family. So, she often found herself lonely – not always alone - on a rooftop, looking at the outlook point of Lestallum or in direction of Insomnia. The direction of her gaze showed her heart. If she watched the outlook point - the cliff, a long fall down – she pitied herself. She compared her life to that cliff. Once, the view was great: she was a Glaive, elite soldier serving the Crown, and an avid magic-user. She had friends, comrades, a mentor even. The view was great. It showed a beautiful picture of what’s to come. The view from the outlook was empty now. It was the darkness or the long fall down. All those things, all far away, long gone. A memory was now painful and stained. If she was facing the fallen city, she was remembering. Not remembering the days filled with sunlight. She was remembering the day it all went wrong. The smoke and static in the air. The tremor of the ground beneath her feet. She remembered the break of dawn and him. He was burning, and ash was floating around like dried leaves on the wind. He was dying. He could have asked many things. To remember him, to tell his story. He could have asked her to stay with him so that death wouldn’t be so lonely. But he asked her to fulfill a mission. He saw her and decided to give her a reason to keep on going. Because he saw she needed it most. And so, she did. How can you refuse a dying man’s wish? She remembered him and wished for someone to give her a task to drive her. She was a soldier.

And as a soldier she carried on, serving and protecting those who couldn’t. Fighting for the day that is yet to come. Fighting for the light and for the future she didn’t believe would come in her lifetime. Greater things indeed. That’s why they were not enough to push her forward. Greater things are more impressive from a distance. And she required proximity. Thus, the time of rest was restless. The want for greatness was traded for attainable.

The darkness. There was a simple darkness. The absence of light. It fell like a veil over the world, and the world was patiently waiting for the King of Light to lift this veil. It brought nothing. How can the absence bring something? Well, except, perhaps, for silence. People tended to live much quieter now that they didn’t feel like the world belonged to them. The world belonged to the darkness now. Not the simple darkness, the deeper darkness. The darkness that spawned daemons. And they, in turn, filled your heart with terror. This darkness ate away at the hope you cherished. A dark room is unnerving, perhaps. A dark room with a darker presence inside is heart-stopping. Then there was more personal darkness. It took a shape of grief, fear or hopelessness. It was the darkness present in one’s mind. The worst darkness. The darkness that made people lose their heads, turn numb to the world or turn on each other.

The darkness brought silence. There was the simple silence of things. The absence of sound. The birds were no longer singing. The buzzing of the insects was gone. You couldn't even hear the occasional stray cat or rat in the city either. Everything living went quiet. There were no laughs or talks or yells. No roar of the engine of a passing car. No loud invitation to try delicious street food. It was, of course, disturbed more than any other silence. Yet it was the silence that one would notice without having to listen. There could be children on the streets, playing and laughing and bickering. But there were none. There could be chatting in the evening as friends and lovers met up to talk. But there wasn’t. Musicians could be playing and painting the city’s mood. There were none. There could be a loud market square where goods were bought and sold. There wasn’t one. When people talked on the streets, they talked briefly and hushed. The evenings were not filled with clamor. There was a deeper silence, spilling itself where it could. Into conversations about things no one wanted to talk about. Into discussions and dwellings on troubling news. The less need there was to talk, the better. Then there was a personal silence that was wrapped around things one would never speak of. The silence of things never to be let outside of one’s mind or heart. She had such silence around her. It followed her on the roof every time. The things she’d seen and done and failed to do. Hers was a silence of a person waiting for judgment.

The woman was looking into the distant darkness in the direction of Insomnia. The simple darkness, the deeper darkness, the darkness of her mind all in her presence. The woman was swathed in simple silence, a deeper silence and the silence of her mind. This was the only time she was facing this direction without a thought of the past but of the future. She was soon to depart for Insomnia with The Marshall and other Glaives. But before leaving there was one thing left to do. She wished she didn’t have to.

“I hate it when you do it,” Libertus said as the woman appeared next to him in orange and blue sparks. She shrugged, dismissing the complaints. She wished she didn’t have to be here because this particular roof was a place of many unpleasant conversations. She guarded her silence just as it guarded her. But she was only human, and Libertus can be particularly nosy.

*

_“We could…no, we should tell them,” Ostium said, overlooking Lestallum from above. They were on patrol together and, well, some things were brought up. Memories of different times and different places. Memories of different people. The woman didn’t respond, but the man could understand by her expression that she had thought about it too._

_“They need it more then we do,” he continued. From the time they’ve spent together he knew that she wasn’t quite the person she was. Libertus considered her reserved – not shy – choosing people carefully and slowly opening up. Nyx was great at it, Libertus knew it personally. Nyx knew how to make someone open up. She tended to brush people off now more than before._

_“I’m sure you’ll do great,” the woman spoke, turning away from him._

_“You could pitch in ya know.”_

_“Libertus,” she said it with a warning, “Glaives are tattling about me being in Altissia during the Wakening. The Marshall isn’t the one to talk.”_

_“I slipped, I admit it,” he said without much guilt behind it. The secrecy around her that Cor seemed to uphold too was pissing him off slowly but steadily. If there was someone who knew what the deal with her was, it would be The Immortal, but cracking him is a not an option._

_“Could just tell ya know,” he pushed her. He knew it. Yet he did it. She knew that telling her story won’t serve any good to anyone. She wasn’t Nyx. She was not a hero. The hero who rescued Lady Lunafreya then saved her from the fires of Insomnia and escorted her to safety. No, she was someone who traveled with her, merely walking beside as the Oracle was fulfilling her duty. Sure, she was helpful on more than one occasion. And she hoped that she was a good friend to her. But in the end, she failed miserably. What good can her story do to inspire green Glaives or give those who are world-weary, hopeless or scared? It would just expose her guilt and shame. If this were to get outside her silence, it would break her._

_“Where were you that day?” Libertus pushed further._

_“In the Citadel. Glaives were on guard duty,” she said coldly._

_“You weren’t among those who went to rescue the Queen?”_

_“No. Where were you?”_

_Libertus hesitated to answer for second, but then acknowledge that his story was much better rumored about. “You’re asking if I was among the traitors,” Ostium said with amusement. Funny that, she didn’t dare to ask him more direct. She even refused to meet his eyes as if fearing herself to be mistaken in her suspicions. Well, he has little to hide now. “I was,” he admitted._

_Her fists clenched. She drew a long, loud breath. “Just like that?” the woman asked and exhaled loudly._ _That’s why he wanted to tell Nyx’s story. To inspire and give hope. And to give rest to that weight on his heart. He knew who he had done and while he regretted it he didn’t feel more shame or guilt that he could carry. Shame for his unwise actions and guilt before his friends that he, in a way, betrayed. But he knew that in the end he made all the right decisions. And he will meet his friends again._

_“I know what I did. What’s with you and Altissia?” he asked boldly._

_“Drop it.”_

_“Listen, you don’t –”_

_“Now,” her tone made it clear that the conversation was over._

_*_

There were now on the same roof they were that night. A great deal has changed between them with time. Libertus, of course, told Nyx’s story with only slight change. His name wasn’t truly spoked during those stories. Because that’s how legends lived on. Many know stories about the Founder King. Very few remember that his name was Somnus Lucis Caelum despite the monument in the Crown City. Even the fact that the Crown City was named Insomnia in his memory was rather forgotten. No, Somnus Lucis Caelum was a historical figure. The Founder King was a hero of legends and tales. True or not. The kings were not remembered by their names but by what people remembered them as. The Clever, The Rogue, The Pious, The Fierce… Nyx became such a hero. A nameless Glaive, a hero, an embodiment of loyalty and courage and hope. It became a good story to tell around a campfire after or before going out in the world of endless darkness. And that’s how they — she and Libertus — wanted it to be. The latter admitted his part in the story, telling the full truth and only truth. She stayed in the shadows until deciding to come out only to Libertus. She told him everything that happened to her during that fateful day and till the very moment they met up again. He didn’t judge her when she expected judgment. He even tried to console her but, of course, you can’t help those who refuse to be helped.

“You volunteered to go to Insomnia, huh,” the man with a smile on his face. He decided to take it as a sign of her working through her emotional turmoil.

“Yeah,” the woman said, stretching her hands above her head. “I did.”

“Leaving me all alone,” he spoke with amusement.

“You’ll do fine,” she put her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do just great.”

The ride was a long one. But nothing a Glaive couldn’t take. There were three caravans of six Glaives in each plus two drivers. They were exchanging stories and tales that lived in the world now. She could hear them from behind her, talking and laughing like there was no care in the world. It felt nice. But, since she was among first to volunteer to go to Insomnia, and having to bother Cor on more than one occasion, she was shotgun with Marshall driving on her left. She couldn’t contribute to the conversations fellow Glaives were having, so, naturally, she slipped into the confinements of her mind and recovered some of the stories she could tell, perhaps, one day. Like the one where Cor Leonis scolded her.

_*_

_Cor fought many battles. He’s seen all kinds of soldiers: rebellions and compliant, reckless and too careful. His least favourite was the reckless kind, it was well known. The ranks of Glaives thinned with every death and there was no one to recruit and train. So, they needed everyone there was. The woman sitting by the truck, her back against the tire, awaiting. Despite black Kingsglaive attire, she blended with the dusty road._

_“I heard what happened with the behemoth,” Cor said, looking at the woman. She looked as always: gloomy, closed-off, indifferent. She wished to get an invitation for a drink rather than a lecture. That would be helpful in more ways than one, but alcohol as of recent is a great luxury._

_“Are you planning on lecturing me?” she asked with indifference. For someone slew a behemoth with a kukri - a toothpick for a beast that size – she looked better than expected. The problem, of course, was how she killed the behemoth. Warping under its head, cutting through the beast’s flesh with the force of sheer momentum only, and landing just a few steps from the dead but massive creature. She flew a few meters after that, rolling in the dust. He was told about her “awesome stunt” but apparently didn’t share the sentiment. The “awesome stunt” was far from smart in Cor’s book. It was unnecessarily reckless. She had a barely visible pink line from the top of her forehead all the way to her left eyebrow, passing it and ending near her eye._

_“I’m alive. Everyone’s alive.”_

_“Your actions were borderline suicide,” Cor raised his voice. She was so dense on purpose and it got to him. The Glaive didn’t defend herself and neither did she meet his eyes. Her eyes were looking at her side, admitting that her actions were reckless, suicidal even._

_“If life lost its appeal to you,” Cor started a bit from afar since the woman was impossible to reason with._

_“Don’t,” she said as she stood up. Her voice emotionless when she expected herself to grow cold, distant, angry even. She didn’t. She wondered if emotions lost its appeal to her as well. Leonis only watched the woman as he crossed his arms. He waited for the right answer and if he was not about to get it, he would suspend her from outside missions. She could still be more useful here alive, inside the walls of the city, than dead out there._

_“Marshall,” she said but couldn’t continue her speech for some time. They stood there together, only the two of them, looking into each other’s eye. Cor was looking for any signs that would give her away. A twitch, a sudden loss of eye contact, anything._ _“I did what I considered to be the best option at the time, it was either one Glaive dead or three,” the woman said without breaking eye contact. Suddenly, she didn’t seem so indifferent but very scared. She might as well be._

_“You took the worst qualities from him,” Leonis remarked coldly. “And his worst stunts.”_

_“I bet he would be proud to know that,” she said with greater coldness as she passed him. They went their ways. There was much work left to do._

_*_

She knew that they would pass Hammerhead and have a pitstop there. She wondered if the trio would be there as well. It’s highly likely since they were not seen in Lestallum for some time now.

The three of Crownsguard, the Brotherhood, they got all sorts of dramatic names. Mainly, because not everyone knew their real names. Gladiolus Amicitia, sworn Shield of King Noctis, Ignis Scientia, royal advisor to King Noctis, and Prompto Argentum, a loyal friend, chum, pal, buddy and livewire of the group. Some came up with many original names for them. The Bodyguard, The Protector, The Hand for Gladiolus. As if the Shield, the official title, wasn’t enough. There were a few for Ignis: The Strategist, The Guide, The Mind. For Prompto: The Livewire, The Cheerer, The Heart. Some were dramatic names; some were not that far-fetched. She never understood why those names were even given but she could take a guess or two. The three appeared now and then in Lestallum during the first year of darkness. The first time they came together and brought news about the King of Light. And they went on to carry the word to other shelters and outposts. After that, it was much harder to see them together again. After a few months, their names were well-washed in inconsistent human memory. But everyone knew who they were: the friends of King Noctis, the last ones to see him. His protectors and confidantes. She actively and passively avoided them in Lestallum or anywhere else. What did she have to say to any of them? If they saw and recognized her, they didn’t seem interested in pursuing a conversation either. If she recalled correctly, it was the end of the second year that Gladiolus and she met. He visited most frequently because of his sister.

*

_She was heading to the powerplant. Yet when she turned around the corner, there he was, sitting down on the stairs. She would never expect an Amicitia to sit down on the stairs like a man tired and broken. He looked merely tired as if carrying immense weight. He might as well have. They looked in each other in the eye, startled to meet someone during a curfew. They recognized each other immediately. Gladiolus graciously invited her to sit down next to him. He had a bottle of alcohol with him. It was a luxury. While alcohol did have medicinal properties, it was a tad wasteful to produce it or have someone producing while they could be doing something more pressing. The potions were better too. There was only so much one can do with a wound from a daemon without the help of anything remotely magical._

_They didn’t talk at first. Neither seemed eager to talk. But they faced each other, clearly recognizing the other. It was only polite._

_“Glad to see you alive,” she decided to speak first. This way she was in control of the conversation._

_“Same here. Explains where you went. You Glaives did good,” he said looking around to point out what Lestallum has become. He took a sip from his bottle._

_“Thanks, I’ll make sure to spread your kind words,” she replied. There it was, the deeper silence, spilling itself wherever it could. “I’m sorry,” the Glaive spoke again, disturbing the deeper silence, preying it away. “I’m sorry.”_

_Gladiolus looked at her, lifting a brow in question. But she didn’t continue to tell what she was sorry for. And she was sorry for many things, but she could only ask one man for so much as to forgive her for leaving Altissia so soon. As if she’d make a difference._

_“I can’t forgive you unless you explain,” he pushed._

_“I feel guilty for leaving Altissia when the King hasn’t recovered…”_

_“I admit that I held a grudge against you for that, but,” he sighed, “but I know now nothing could change what was about to happen.” The man didn’t say anything after that. He just patted her on a shoulder two times in a comrade-like way. Perhaps, that was a sign of his forgiveness. Without him saying the words, she did feel better after the gesture sunk in. He could have left here there on the stairs without a word. He could have turned and walked away with his leaving speaking more than any words could. But he didn’t and that must mean something. The next time they’ve met wasn’t as awkward. Their encounters were less cold each time but soon the temperature was warm enough for her to ask questions._

_“Tell me what happened after Altissia,” she asked carefully._

_“Nothing good,” he replied. There was no reprimand in his voice. He said it as a matter-of-factly as if there was nothing good in the world after the Hydrean’s wakening. Well, there was some truth in that._

_“We went to Fodina Caestido, lost Prompto, and went to Gralea passing by Tenebrae.”_

_“Gralea?” surprise and confusion in the woman’s voice. Every child knew that Gralea was the capital of Niflheim. Impregnable, militarized, the heart of the Empire. It held the most precious Zegnautus Keep, the conveyer of magitek soldiers. Gladiolus nodded._

_“Through Tenebrae?” she was surprised to hear that. Tenebrae. She wondered what has become of it in the years of darkness. What have become of the sylleblossom fields that Luna adored so much? The flowers were dead, most likely. Everything was either dead or dying these days._

_“Do you know what happened to Ravus?” the woman asked, biting her lips. Gralea and Tenebrae could only bring one person to her mind. Ravus Nox Fleuret. She suspected he was dead. After all, it was only reasonable. The Empire has fallen not long after the ruins of Altissia. Her eyes watched how Gladio’s expression turned grim. Yes, Ravus was dead. “How?” she asked stoically. She remembered that Ravus left the Altar with a purpose. He wanted to fulfill his duty. She wanted to know if he succeeded._

_“The Chancellor,” the man’s answer was simple._

_“Chancellor?”_

_*_

She shook her head in the wake of terrible memory. The Chancellor. He haunted her in irrepressible dreams. Yet her mind seems to turn him into something of nightmares. He wasn’t simply a wicked man in her dreams. He was a daemon. Powerful, unstoppable, merciless. She often dreamt of the Altar and him. She couldn’t remember his face, but her traumatized mind fixed it by giving him a terrifying grimace that spits darkness from his smiling mouth. The dream always ended the same way. Ravus was dead, she was powerless on the ground, feeling like she was about to drown, and then someone screamed in agony. She shook, unwillingly, unwittingly, from the echoes of terror in her head. The dream-like state of her mind was gone. The reminiscence was over.

“Something wrong?” Leonis asked coolly. She shook her head at first before remembering that his eyes were sat on the road.

“Nothing,” she said, “just didn’t want to wake up so suddenly.” She wasn’t asleep, more stuck in slumber, a dream-like state, a place between reality and pleasant remembering of things that didn’t hurt her. Prompto was the one who came to her then. She met him – not so surprising now – at Hammerhead. He was helping out Cindy with other Hunters there. She was resting after a hunt nearby.

*

_“Hey there,” he said as he approached her from behind. He sounded almost as optimistic as Cindy did, so they must get along. She turned around and only nodded in acknowledgment. She didn’t know him, couldn’t know him. All she knew that he the only of the three who held no expectations for her back in Altissia. And she appreciated that more than he could ever know. Could he possibly know without her telling him?_

_“So, uhm, this is unexpected,” he continued with a smile on his face. She didn’t know the boy enough to say whether it was a greeting or a welcoming smile. There is a great difference between the two._

_“What did you expect from a Glaive?”_

_“Huh, yeah, right,” Prompto touched the back of his head in embarrassment. She didn’t know him personally, but there were tell-tale signs that he wanted to say something but couldn’t just yet. It bothered her more than she was willing to admit. She felt like she should ask all three of them for forgiveness, it only seemed fair._

_“Gil for your thoughts?” she nudged a bit, hoping to end this sooner than later._

_“Ummm,” his lips in a thin line, “have you ever met accidentally someone you’ve been in the middle school and it’s just weird?”_

_“Can’t say that I have.”_

_“Well, this is just like that. Weird.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“No-no-no, it’s not your –”_

_“I’m sorry for leaving. In Altissia, I left when I shouldn’t have.”_

_“It’s…umh….it’s okay, you couldn’t have known or done anything about it….”_

_There it was. All out yet it didn’t quite feel like it was. She didn’t feel relieve the way she did when Gladiolus patted her on the shoulder. And she couldn’t place why she didn’t feel the way she expected herself to feel. The fact that they understand now is that she wouldn’t change anything. They know it, she knows it. If only the guilt knew it too. But she is guilty of many things, isn’t she? There’s more to her sins than just her departure from Altissia._

_*_

Most likely, she’d have to encounter the chocobo-haired boy again in Hammerhead. Gladiolus could be there too, now that he was leading Crownsguard. Hammerhead is an important outpost and where most deliveries are coming from. Soon there will be even more as Glaives would salvage things from the ruins of Insomnia. All the beacons would benefit from Insomnian technology if they are lucky to find the remains. That leaves only the third one of the Brotherhood. Argentum is in stationed in Hammerhead most of the time, Amicitia leads the Crownsguard, what is left of it without the Crown to guard. Only Scientia is a mystery and, in a way, a legend. She knows that he never recovered his sight. She met him in Lestallum once.

_*_

_Her guarding duty was over and she owed some rest to herself. She was slowly walking through the emptying streets of the City of Light. It was as it had been for the last year or two. Who counts the days? That’s why whispering is so acute in the silence of present-day Lestallum. She heard whispers as she was passing by a group of recently returned Hunters and Glaives._

_“That was like wow,” a hunter said._

_“I know, right? The Crownsguard training must be extensive,” the other continued, awe and anxiety in his voice._

_“Imagine that,” the female hunter said, “they blind you and make you fight other Crownsguard.”_

_“They don’t do that,” a female Glaive said. “I don’t think so,” she added with hesitance._

_“Maybe it’s magic?” the first hunter asked. “Some spell that gives him magic sight.”_

_“I don’t think so either,” the Glaive said confidently._

_“Maybe he is just that good at fighting without his eyes,” the second Glaive continued, “after all, what use are eyes in this darkness? I see magic sparks more often in the fight than my target!” That caused a respite of laughter in the group. Whoever they were talking about, he wasn’t there with them. Meaning he was somewhere around. She thought of a few places recently returned would go to. It didn’t sound like whoever was with them was injured, so not a medical tent. Cor or Cid would be an option if there was a bounty or delivery. She should try them first, to ask about a blind fellow. She didn’t need to walk far. Cor and Ignis were talking not far from Cid’s station. The blind fellow. That makes sense. She remembered the scarring on the man’s face. She remembered how he got them too. The cry that haunted her at night, the sound that woke her every time, it was his. She never dreamed of her cries, not that she could recall anyway. But his… she dreamed of frequently. She stopped in her tracks, unsure of whether to watch and wait for a moment to approach him or to go get some rest and forget about it altogether. It wouldn’t take long for Cor to notice her, she knew. Marshall and Ignis shook hands, said something to each other, and Cor left. She stood her ground of undecidedness. In retrospective, she should have ran away._

_“You may as well come closer, so we could talk,” Ignis said without turning around. Cor told him someone was waiting for him. But did he tell who exactly was waiting? The woman walked to the blinded man and stood in front of him. She saw him very clearly. The visors to hide scarring and the veil on his eyes, the humble green behind it. The Crownsguard attire, worn with time but care. He had a walking stick with him. It added to his age just as scarring did. And he couldn’t be even over twenty-five yet._

_“Umh, I just wanted to congratulate you on a mission well done,” she said._

_“What makes you think it was well done?” he asked calmly. There was nothing that indicated that he recognized her voice. Perhaps, it’s for the better._

_“Good word spreads fast,” the woman decided to abstain from mentioning her eavesdropping._

_“Is that so?” he mused. “Well, I am glad that good is still capable of spreading in this world.” There was a blink of a moment when a sharp smile appeared on his face. And then he said her name._

_“You recognized, huh,” she muttered with disappointment._

_“I’m blind, not demented,” he stated simply. There was nothing behind his words. No pain, no regret, no self-pity. She envied that._

_“Y-yeah,” the woman was at loss for words. She was glad he couldn’t see her face, otherwise, he may have noticed her envy and her relief. He had done much better than herself. She felt oddly proud of a man to grow beyond his loss. Perhaps she could sleep without hearing his cries after this moment._

_“You were the one to tell me to stop tiptoeing around my injuries,” he continued. The woman gasped. That was not a proud moment nor was it a pleasant one. Her chest ached with regret of the cruel words she used that time. She could have chosen kindness and sympathy. But she always made the wrong choices._

_“I was–”_

_“You were right,” he spoke with distant gentleness. She hated it. How accepting he was of her faults and mistakes. How accepting he was of his life-long injury and sacrifice. How much better and stronger he was as a person and as a soldier. Her face grimaced in pain. What a relief it was to talk to a blind man._

_“But it doesn’t help, does it?” she asked, voice laced with regret._

_“In my expertise, it rarely does,” he parried her words lightly._

_“I’m — I’m gonna go now.”_

_“As you wish.”_

_Yet she didn’t move. She wanted to, very much so. But her legs refused to carry her home and away from this man. A loud gasp escaped her and then her lungs were desperately sucking in the air. Two stray tears rolled down her face. The man smiled at her._

_“Don’t cry for me,” he said with the same distant gentleness. “I made my choices.”_

_“I’m not crying for you,” she replied, voice shaking. “I think those are of happiness,” she confessed. “You did good.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_*_

Gladiolus was angry with her in Altissia and she understood that. In fact, his anger infected her, reminded her that she was still alive. She hated it, being alive and being angry only with herself. Gladiolus was angry at himself too. He held a grudge against her, and she understood that too. There was a mutual understanding between them. An understanding between two people who pledged their lives to serve and protect and who felt like they have failed. She had faced him and felt better afterward. Facing Prompto was simple and easy. She may not understand him, but he never asked for it. A clean cut. With Ignis, however, it was anything but. They knew what had happened back in Altissia. He knew what she knew about that fateful day. She saw him put on the ring, she heard his screams, she saw him burning with power and death. She was there to witness him crawling towards Noctis in complete darkness of his sight. She saw what his friends never did: the breaking point. They saw him already broken. It was like a snap of a twig, a break of a bone. They were devasted, worried, supportive. They were experiencing guilt and sorrow. But they never saw or heard him breaking. They didn’t see how the twig resisted, never heard the snap of the bone. They arrived when the twig was already snapped and the bone was already broken. Otherwise, it would haunt them too.


End file.
